The Distant Cartograph
The tip of the quill hovered, trembling, over the vellum, its nib dry and stiff, holding a droplet of ink that threatened to fall and ruin the page. Elias watched the drop swell, a dark bead of oak gall and gum arabic, suspended in the cold air of the scriptorium. Behind him, in the thick stone wall, a mouse scratched. It was a rhythmic, dry sound, *scritch, scritch, scritch*, that matched the...
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