The Distant Clue
The mud on your boots is the same color as the silt that clings to the riverbeds of the Appalachian foothills, a thick, umber paste that seems to possess a memory of its own, holding onto the weight of what you have carried through the rain. You are not supposed to be here, in this stretch of hollow where the pines grow so close together they form a solid wall against the sky, but the map in...
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