The Wraithwood Ritual
by Paul Edward Costa

ONDERNEATH the midday sun, three children waited for the Preacher at the furthest limits of Secondary Source. Soon he would come dancing over the rolling horizon in his white hood and cloak, hunched over in his robes, his arms raised in the shape of a Y, his bent legs prancing nimbly beneath him. He would come holding an iron staff and wearing a rainbow mask.
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