The Pale Bonsai
The rain does not fall so much as it hangs in the air, a fine, gray mist that settles into your pores and chills the marrow of your bones. You are walking. You have been walking for what feels like days, though the sun, a pale and distant disc behind the clouds, suggests only a few hours have passed. The road is not a road, not really. It is a path of packed mud and broken stones, winding...
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