The Golden Maze
In the highlands, the wind does not ask permission; it simply takes what it can carry, leaving the rest to rot in the dust. I The smell of wet wool and rusted iron hung in the loft, a thick, physical weight that pressed against Takeshi Yoshida’s lungs as he tightened the leather straps of his pack. Below, in the stable, the horses stamped their hooves against the packed earth, a rhythmic...
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