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... the wet stone. Spray hit her face, cold and sharp, and the roar of the waterfall pressed against her eardrums until it felt like noise was a physical thing.
She made the mistake of looking down.
Water dropped in a white column into a black pool far below, mist turning silver in the thin light. Pretty, in a distant, painted way. Up close, all she saw were rocks—jagged ledges, hard angles. If she slipped here and her head met even one of those on the way down, that was it. If she w ...
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