A Day in the Minoc Hills

Swung the pickaxe under a relentless sun—twenty-five turns biting into stone, each strike ringing true. Dust coated my tongue and sweat stung my eyes, but the veins of ore gleamed like promises. Came away with 2.6 and the quiet pride of honest work. Minoc doesn’t give up her secrets easy, but today, she gave me this.