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... und through the darkwood trees, veering toward the east. No one spoke as they rode. The villagers walked with heads bowed, carts rattling over roots and sunken stone. The children no longer asked questions. Even the youngest seemed to understand that something old and watching had begun to walk beside them.

Gorehill waited beyond the next ridge.

But even from here, the air stank of it.

It wasn’t rot—not entirely. It was damp earth, scorched cloth, blood turned bitter in t ...

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