The voices came at the worst possible time.
They had a habit of doing this. They stole into my mind with awful timing, demanding to be heard, swamping my thoughts. Appearing from nowhere as if they had emanated from the walls, filtering through the cliffs and caverns of the Canyonlands. There was something primordial and godly about them. Something so undeniable that when they came to me, I always imagined giants stooping down to whisper in my ear.
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