The Golden Quest
The rain on the tin roof sounded like a thousand fingernails tapping in unison, a sharp, rhythmic percussion that seemed to drill into the bone of the house. You stood by the window, watching the mud slide down the hillside, a thick, brown river that swallowed the lower fence posts one by one. Inside, the air smelled of wet wool and the metallic tang of old blood that no amount of scrubbing...
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