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Soft clods of earth scrape the ground.

Heavy with the weight of penance, a man exiled from his homeland must make arrangements of the most audacious kind if he wishes to return.

From these strange shoes the dark mud oozes between clinging toes. They are hard to lift, harder still to balance upon.

How curious that a man of such power and certainty should find himself in a position so precarious.

Shuffling forward, back, to the east and to the west, the walk of an exile is awkward and repetitive.

No rest, no end, just Exile.

The light soul and the heavy earth are bound together.

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