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... ar bridge, the fifth since I had departed the Planter demesne. Autumnal light filtered through the shedding trees, orange as a dying candle flame. Leaves crunched under my iron-weighted boots, or played in wind-caught eddies around the hem of my red cloak. I rested my axe on my shoulder as I advanced, unbound. No need to hide it where I headed.

I paused at the entrance to the bridge, running my eyes over the ancient green stone. Moss and ivy covered nearly every inch of the structure, gr ...

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