The Wistful Voyage
The rain drummed a monotonous, hollow rhythm against the tin roof of the temporary survey office, a sound that seemed to erode the very bones of the structure. Elias Thorne sat at the warped wooden desk, his hands resting on the topographic maps of the Blackwood Line, the ink still wet on the final segment he had drafted that morning. He was forty years old, and for the past decade, his life...
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