The Golden Visit
The mist did not roll in; it descended like a lid being placed upon a jar. Elara Vane adjusted the leather strap of her satchel, her fingers numb from the cold that had settled into the granite highlands of the Scottish border. She was a cartographer of the Crown, a title that carried the weight of law and the rigidity of ink, and she had come to verify the disputed line between the two estates...
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