The Pale Banner
Rehema Kimario’s hands were already moving, fingers slick with the damp grit of the clay pot he had just smashed against the threshold, the shards scattering like broken teeth across the packed earth of his shop floor. The dream had been of a vessel, large and pale, filled with salt that turned to ash in his mouth, and now the physical act of destruction felt less like a choice and more like a...
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