The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-18 05:45:28 -

The wool is wet. That is the first thing you know, a cold, heavy saturation that soaks through the lining of your skin. You are wearing it. It is not just a coat; it is your second skin, your armor, your grave. The fabric is a coarse, dark grey, woven from the hair of sheep that died in the high, wind-scoured hills of the valley. It smells of rain and iron and the faint, sweet rot of old...

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