The Wistful Dinner
The road is mud. It is thick and black. It pulls at your boots. You walk. You must walk. The rain does not stop. It falls in sheets. It soaks the wool of your cloak. You are cold. You are wet. You are alone. The village is ahead. The lights are low. They are yellow. They are warm. You see the tavern. The sign hangs crooked. It creaks in the wind. You stop. You look at your hands. They are...
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