The hollow was filled with bones, sticking out of the ground where the trees had blown over, the roots not anchored in the shallow, stony, ground. Some still had scraps of fabric clinging to them, bleached by the sun and tattered by the wind. Every step they took revealed a new skeleton, half buried in the slippery leaf mould. Sparrow swallowed down her desire to be sick and scrambled back onto the safety of the hill.
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