The road from the Gloomwood opened into the rolling meadowlands of the Solarian border country, but the pastoral beauty that Amara remembered from her youth had been replaced by a landscape of desolation. Fields of golden barley lay scorched to black cinder, smoke still curling lazily from the blackened stalks. Orchard trees had been systematically hacked down with axes, their branches left to wither in the dust. Over the crest…
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