The Wistful Mountain
You hold the hare. Its ribs show through the fur like the wires in a broken radio. It is still. It has been still for a long time. You do not know how long. Time is a strange thing in the Hollow. It pools. It leaks. "Is it dead?" asks the boy. He stands in the doorway of the stone hall. His name is Thomas. He is seven. He has dirt under his fingernails and a look on his face that says he has...
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