Home, Oh How I Long for Its Embrace

- By Fiha

Fiha picked her way through the undergrowth; weeds clawed at her face as winds from the south picked up and lashed about the forest. The tracks stopped for a moment, signs of a struggle, she sniffed the air cautiously and listened for a time … naught but the wind and distant echoes of the cathedral bells mournful tole. Ahead, the gathering dusk. Behind, the swirling uncertainty of wild dissidence.

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