The Pale Echo
The rain does not fall so much as it is exhaled, a cold, persistent breath that soaks into the fabric of the coat you have worn for three decades. You are standing on the edge of the precipice, the stone slick beneath your boots, and below you lies the valley of the Echoes. It is not a place that appears on any map drawn by human hands, yet you have walked its paths so often that the mud feels...
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