The Wistful Mountain
"Stay back," Thomas said, his voice thin against the howling wind, though he did not move from the edge of the ridge. "The ice is thin, and the void is hungry today." I adjusted the leather straps of my pack, feeling the weight of the surveyor’s instruments press into my shoulders, a familiar ache that had become the only constant in my life since the autumn of 1893. I was thirty-two years old,...
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