It was morning when he reached the mountain citadel, and the glaring sun gave the stone and ice a blue glow. The monastery was built from the same rock as the surrounding peaks, and unless you knew where and what to look for, you’d never find it. Many brave wanderers had gone searching for it and found only their deaths on the unforgiving slopes. 
But it was a sword that cut both ways, the pilgrim figured. The monks must be starved for news of the outside world.
He adjusted his pack. He was going to sell them so many encyclopedias.

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