The Pale Banner
The air in the Hollow tastes of copper and old rain, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat before you can even draw a full breath. You are standing in the center of a field that has no edges, a vast expanse of grey grass that sways with a rhythmic, mechanical precision, as if the wind were a machine set to a fixed frequency. There is no sun here, only a diffuse, pale light that...
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