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Cold winds blow across the dark hills some miles north of here and brush chill lips against the scattered and yellow bones of my father.
I picture them there, in the goblin-field of my memory, wind and beast-gnawed bones, and I mourn the loss of everything that I held dear. Lost so long ago to the sigh and sorrow of those cold dark hills.
I picture them there, in the goblin-field of my memory, wind and beast-gnawed bones, and I mourn the loss of everything that I held dear. Lost so long ago to the sigh and sorrow of those cold dark hills.
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