“The Wanderer squinted while looking at the horizon where a black silhouette ran along the ridge in the land to the west. Until the shadow turned downhill, he wondered if this was an apparition born of his loneliness. Then he saw a horse and rider after they left the halo of the setting sun. They ran for the woods, far from the gates where lawmen would check papers and ask questions. He whistled when the fugitive disappeared in the trees. Anyone caught crossing the border in secret would lose a ...year of life in prison, possibly more depending on the misdeeds that compelled one to flee. Turning his gaze east, he saw end-of-day glow spread across the hills, infusing warmth into the rain-soaked grasses. The rains always started in the limbo between summer and autumn, followed by sun and then rain again. He knew the rhythm of the seasons well, but felt foreign in his home country. The land of his birth had become less familiar, less comfortable than the places where he couldn’t speak the language.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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