The Pale Altar
Act I The valley of Hunza, cut deep by the meltwater that rose unchecked in the cellars of the old houses, was a place where the grain was hoarded and the mules died slowly, their bones showing through the skin like the ribs of a shipwrecked vessel. It was a time of famine, a time when the copper ingot shaped like an oxhide, passed from father to son for three generations, sat in a drawer that...
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