Progress on GT has slowed to a frustrating standstill. We're like a ship locked in ice, waiting for spring. One more piece of art, and the cover, that damned cover.

Everyone has done their part so well that it is a crime to sit on the stories any longer. They deserve to be read, and sooner than later.

The weary, frostbitten crew looks to their captain. How far to open sea? With the shifting floes, it is hard to judge. They would wait for the thaw, if they had to, but their hearts long for home, for the voyage to be complete, and for the next one to begin.

The hushed whispers fall away into silence as the captain hauls a wooden trunk topside. He kicks it over, spilling gleaming hachets and axes onto the deck.

"We start cutting."


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