The Distant Journey
The wind did not howl at the cabin; it scraped, a low, continuous rasp against the warped cedar siding that sounded too much like the dragging of a heavy boot across gravel. Elias Thorne sat in the center of the room, the heat long since dead in the stove, his hands wrapped around the brass casing of a compass that had belonged to his brother, David. The needle trembled, indifferent to the cold...
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