The world seems a different without them, the reckless relics.
Those once known so well, whose voices echoed in the muted void.
The landscape has transformed,
the mud caked footprints of the pious pilgrim will no longer pursue me.
Tiny fingers delicately trace the scarred earth, searching for answers.
Tiny fingers blindly search the fragments, the charred remnants of the reckless relics.
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