The Wistful Incense
In the palm of Elias Thorne’s hand, a single stick of pine resin lay cool and dry, its surface rough with the grit of crushed bark and the faint, waxy sheen of rendered sap. He turned it over, feeling the grain, a habit born of twenty years grinding charcoal and blending oils in a cramped workshop in Leeds, but here, in the valley of Oria, the object felt less like a product and more like a...
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