The Wistful Show
The dream always began with the sound of hooves on wet stone, a rhythmic, hollow thudding that seemed to come from inside Elias’s own chest before it ever reached his ears, and in the dream the stag was not an animal but a burning hole in the air, a golden void that ate the mist of the highlands and left only the scent of ozone and old blood. Elias woke with his fingers twisted into the rough...
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