The Distant Crown
The drizzle had soaked the thatch of the croft until it sagged under the weight of water, a grey curtain that blurred the boundary between the peat bog and the sky, while in the village below the foghorn screamed and the dog in the kennel bay answered with a long, mournful howl that seemed to hang in the air long after the sound had died. Eilidh Buchanan stood in the doorway of the parish...
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