The Faded Dust
You wake in the middle of the night, not from a nightmare but from a sound so faint it might be the settling of bones in the earth, a dry rattle that seems to come from inside your own skull, and you find that you are no longer in your tent but standing in a vast, grey expanse of sand that stretches out to a horizon which is not a line but a bruise, a deep purple smear where the sky meets the...
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