A man walked the hills guiding clouds with a long staff. Villagers thought him peculiar until drought struck. He shaped clouds into rivers and forests, coaxing them toward the thirsty fields. One evening, a storm formed too quickly. Unable to guide it, the shepherd lifted his staff and stepped into the tempest. When the sky cleared, he was gone — but the clouds now moved gently across the region, as if remembering his touch. Children said he hadn’t vanished, only become part of the weather’s breath.
About the Creator
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The Clocktower That Waited for a Name
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