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Chapter 45: Beyond the Window
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Chapter 47: The Garden of Beginnings
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... e. Branches twisted overhead like blackened ribs, their leaves whispering in tones the wind did not own. Even the soil seemed to hold its breath, reluctant to stir beneath the wheels of the carriage cutting through its path.
For four days, the carriage had devoured the miles—crossing rivers that slowed their flow until it passed, valleys where birds stilled mid-flight, unwilling to stir its shadow. Nothing lingered in its path.
It was no mortal carriage. Its iron frame, darkened ...
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