The Distant Threshold
The ink on the foundation stones is not dry, though it has been there for twenty years. You are Elias, forty-two, a border warden whose hands are cracked from the cold and whose duty is to keep the line between the known and the unknown. You stand in the cellar of your ancestral home, a heavy stone slab resting on your shoulders, and you want to seal the breach before the winter solstice. The...
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