The Wistful Mountain
Chapter One Who owns the boundary when the boundary dissolves? Carl Layton asked the question to the fog, which was not an answer but a slow, white erosion creeping across the black soil of the Fens. He stood at the edge of the ancestral estate, the air still and heavy as a held breath, the dovecote cooing a low, rhythmic drone that sounded like grinding gears. His hands shook. Not from cold,...
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