The Fire of Wyoming
The green thing was not a thing. That was the first thing Harry understood, and the last thing he would understand before he rode out of Wyoming and never looked back. It sat in the centre of a half-mile circle of glassed earth like a jewel in a setting of obsidian. The earth had been melted— not burned, not charred, melted— into a smooth, curved surface that reflected the Wyoming sky like a...
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