There's a rolling highland, green as it is unceasing, billowing like yeast in and out of a stand of sugar maple and yellow birch. The dense wood tapers to a thicket lining before a velvet grass thins it out. At the base of a quiet knoll, an indistinguishable one of many, sits a modest timber-frame cottage with mossy rocks stacked to its shingles on one side. Smoke is quickly swept from a chimney into a brisk air that scurries through the glen, and as the whistling wind passes, it makes the faintest call, transforming for a moment into . . .
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