The Wistful Incense
The rain did not fall so much as it was imposed upon the valley, a heavy, grey curtain that erased the horizon and left only the wet, shivering earth beneath the hooves of the donkeys, where Elara sat wrapped in a cloak that had once been the color of deep burgundy but was now the dull, lifeless brown of dried blood and old mud, a garment that clung to her thin frame like a second skin that had...
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