PREVIEW
... it starts to move, it doesn't stop.
For Lalor, however, time accelerated to the extreme within that week.
Under a sky half-filled with sunset and stars, the neighboring wheat field still glowed with golden hues.
The farmers who once stole his wheat were still bending over, sweating profusely, swinging their sickles.
And yet, he stood motionless in front of the stubble, holding a sickle, while Ansel and Bryson were bundling the last sheaf of oats behind him.
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