The Wistful Skyline
The rain fell on the heath not as water, but as a fine, grey dust that settled into the crevices of the stone and the hollows of the earth. It was a substance that seemed to have no origin in the sky above, but rather exuded from the landscape itself, a weeping of the land. Thomas walked through it, his boots sinking into the soft, black peat, feeling the cold seep up through the soles and into...
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