The Wistful Ashes
The road is a ribbon of bruised earth that stretches out into the grey nothing of the horizon, and you walk upon it with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man who has forgotten that his feet are made of flesh, carrying in your hands a clay jar that is warm to the touch, pulsing with a rhythmic, biological heat that defies the cold wind whipping off the heath, and inside that jar lies the heart of...
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