The Golden Suspect
The mud of the borderlands is not merely wet but heavy, a cloying substance that sucks at your boots with the tenacity of a leech, and you, Elara, drag your feet through it with the desperate, rhythmic violence of a woman who has forgotten how to breathe without pain. In the second year of the Great Famine, when the grain silos were stripped bare and the cattle died standing up in the fields,...
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