The Basin Weavers
## The Basin Weavers The wind tasted of pine needles and dust, a familiar bite against Lin’s raw throat. He squinted at the churning grey sky, pulling his threadbare tunic tighter against the chill. Behind him, a ragged line of…
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The Cartographer’s Bloom
## The Cartographer’s Bloom The desert wind tasted of grit and sun-baked stone, a familiar sting against my lips. I squinted at the shimmering horizon, dust devils dancing like restless spirits across the ochre expanse. This wasn’t just any desert;…