Читать книгу To Ride Hell’s Chasm - Janny Wurts, Janny Wurts - Страница 9

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Two hours before dawn, the mist clung like wool, masking the snow-clad spires of the peaks that would restore her sense of direction. She huddled, shivering, in a pussywillow thicket, eyes shut to contain the fraught pitch of her fear, while patrols from the palace thundered past on the road, the smoke from their torches streaming…

To Ride Hell’s Chasm

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