The Wistful Skyline
The air in the valley of Keth was thick, not with the usual damp fog that rolled in from the marshes at dawn, but with a suffocating, golden dust that smelled of dried lavender and old blood, and you were running, your lungs burning with the desperate, ragged effort of a creature that knows it is being hunted by something that does not tire, your bare feet slapping against the cold, damp earth...
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