Chapter IV: High Stake Hollow

Pencil-strikes, forced on the descriptive parchment of our pilgrimage. Dry sands stir up dust as our shackled boots be-wander a windswept plain. The slit of our pen runs dry, yet the moist throats of our custodians crave to herald the fourth Chapter in a grim recital. And in the darkest hour before the dawn we see eye to eye, Queen of the Council.

source: thesecavemen.com

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