The Faded River
The ice broke. It did not shatter with a roar, but with a sigh. A long, thin groan of ancient weight surrendering to the water below. I stood on the edge of the thaw. My boots sank into the slush. The river was waking. It had been dead all winter, a grey sheet of glass sealing the valley shut. Now it cracked. I am a thief. I stole the silence from the air. They call it a sin. I called it...
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