The Faded Alibi
The iron bit digs into the horse’s mouth, a sharp, metallic taste that bleeds into your tongue, and you realize with a cold, technical clarity that you are not merely riding but being consumed by the mechanism of the beast, the friction of the leather against the hide, the rhythmic thud of the hooves against the wet cobblestones of the high street where the mist clings to the eaves like a...
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