The Wistful Mountain
The siege had lasted forty days, and Elias Vane counted the hours by the dripping of condensation from the vaulted ceiling of the scriptorium, each drop striking the stone floor with a dull, wet thud that marked the erosion of the fortress of Aethelgard. He was a scholar of no particular rank, a man whose life had been measured in ink and parchment, and now he clutched a leather-bound codex...
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