The well was dry. It had been dry for as long as Elias had been alive, which was most of his life. He knew this because he had looked into it every morning for three years, and every morning the darkness went down and down and came back up empty.
Elias was twenty-six and he didn't have much. A backpack with a change of clothes. A wallet with twelve dollars and a library card from a town he'd left a year ago. A habit of getting up at dawn and walking to places that didn't have names on any map he'd ever seen. The snake was in the well. Small, dark, no longer than his forearm, stuck on a ledge about ten feet down. Elias couldn't see its...
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