The Distant Wound
Act I The slate mills of New Cymru ground the mountain into powder, a white dust that settled on the cobblestones and choked the lungs of every man who worked the quarries, a town where the air itself felt heavy with the weight of unclaimed land and the sharp, metallic tang of the sea fret that rolled in from the coast, erasing the horizon line by line until the streets vanished into a grey,...
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