The Wistful Ashes
Act I The polder wind stripped the moisture from the air so thoroughly that the soil itself seemed to crack and exhale a dry, sulfurous heat, a condition that had rendered the noon hours impossible for any man who wished to remain sane or alive, turning the terraced fields into a labyrinth of blinding glare and shifting shadows. It was in this suffocating light that Teunis Nieuwenhuis walked...
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