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CHANNILLO

CHAPTER EIGHT -- DREAMS AND MEMORIES (3)
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shadows swept around her, closed fists swinging in, and then nothing.

Twisted in the sleeping bag, Keira whimpered in her sleep, still clutching her belly.

The dream shifted and changed.

Bright sunlight streamed through the open hayloft door, creeping through cracks between the barn boards and illuminating dust particles; soft sounds of clucking filled the air. Inside the barn the view was strangely unfamiliar; Keira tried to turn in her sleep, to look around; the floor seemed far below, scattered with loose hay. She was somewhere up high, maybe the hayloft.

The sounds of chickens blended with the bleating of sheep, soft grunts of pigs; suddenly twisted into a high-pitched squeal, and then –

A heavy rope came into view. Worn and knotted, hanging from the ridgepole.

She knew. T...

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