The haft, a memory of what once was, dangles from a leather belt. Tanned and stained, like its master, marching barefoot across the knotted boards of prominence, blister forth those distractions of severance. Is it merely a coincidence to find, such harvests and malapropisms, conveniently illumined by remnants of pristine territoriality, lying dormant and abandoned beneath this temporary auburn sky?
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