The Wistful Witness
Galina Novikov woke with the taste of iron in her mouth, the same metallic tang that had haunted her sleep for three years. She lay still in the narrow cot, listening to the wind scrape against the windowpanes of the border outpost, a sound like dry leaves being torn apart. The dream was there again, the white crane standing in the snow, its neck bent in a curve that seemed to hold the weight...
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