The Pale Shadows
The rain does not fall so much as it settles, a grey and pervasive mist that clings to the wool of your coat and seeps into the marrow of your bones, turning the Scottish highlands into a landscape of wet slate and bruised heather. You are walking, or rather, you are enduring the act of walking, your left leg dragging with a rhythmic, heavy thud that marks time against the silence of the moors,...
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