The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 05:49:39 -

The sky over the valley of the River Arne was not grey but the color of bruised iron, a heavy, suffocating slate that pressed down upon the rolling hills with a weight that seemed to crush the very breath out of the air, and I stood there, my boots sinking into the wet, sucking mud of the path that wound precariously along the cliff edge, watching the last of the wild thistles, those proud and...

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