The Wistful Saga
The rain did not fall so much as it materialized, a fine, persistent mist that clung to the wool of their coats and seeped into the marrow of their bones, turning the desolate expanse of the highland moor into a grey, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with a rhythm indifferent to human existence. They had walked for three days, following the ancient, winding track that cut through the...
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