Stand with the girl

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From: A dream about a storm-tossed clifftop

The poor thing is all alone here. You can't just look on.


A bony little hand, light as a feather

You go to the girl and take her hand. She trembles, clasping your fingers tightly. Her lips move; you have to lean close to catch the words carried on the softest breath. 'They wish to go North...'