Reaching into the pocket of her dress, Narin takes out the bottle brought from the Valley of Lalish. She holds the glass up to the sun, feeling the caress of the light reflecting off its surface. Then she turns it upside down, waiting for the last drop to fall. Water in its liquid form. This she cannot know, but that drop was a snowflake once upon a time, in a land far away. It passed through what was then the world’s richest and largest city, its chimneys belching clouds of smoke and sulphur. It witnessed the birth of a boy, the force of another river. Ephemeral though it is, it carries
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