The Golden Visit
The sky over the Blackwood Ridge did not break so much as it collapsed, a sudden and violent tearing of the atmosphere that turned the twilight into a bruised and bleeding purple before the first wave of ash struck the ground. It was not rain, but a fine, powdery dust that smelled of sulfur and burnt hair, coating the windshield of the patrol car in a layer of grey grit that made the wipers...
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