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... rees clung to crumbling cliffs. Valleys where the mist pooled like old ghosts too tired to rise. The Bastos region seemed to fight their every step — a land that did not forget, nor forgive.

Day and night interchanged as they moved, while the scenery seemed to change visibly from ugly to bad to bearable. Thankfully, at least, there were no Reavers hunting them here.

By the time they broke through the last of the hills, the March was far behind them. The oppressive gloom lifted, i ...

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