The Pale Bridge
The great stone arch of the bridge did not fall, but it did crack, a sound like the snapping of a dry twig amplified by the thunderous resonance of the valley, splitting the sky into two uneven halves of bruised purple and bleeding grey. It was in that instant of suspended catastrophe, with the dust still rising in slow, heavy curtains that smelled of wet limestone and ancient rot, that Elias...
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