Caminaba pegado a tu nuca. Al norte de los vientos. Por encima de los abismos siniestros. Había violentas rocas miradas sobre los lados del precipicio. Sombras alargadas como manos. Secas hierbas cuyo olor quedaba. En ciertos huecos, al abrigo, cabezas de sombras se ocultaban, espectros de la noche, larvas de la noche como gelatinosas máscaras.
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