The Wistful Mountain
The wind on Kestrel Ridge did not howl so much as it screamed, a high-pitched, metallic shriek that tore through the wool of Elias Thorne’s jacket and rattled the teeth in his skull, forcing him to pause in his packing as he stared out the window at the jagged, fractured silhouette of the peak that dominated their horizon. For twenty years, Elias had viewed that mountain as a sentinel, a rigid...
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