Behind the brilliant green of the hills, mountain ranges of puffy clouds lit by the setting sun were all that was left of the day's showers. The summer air was still warm and damp, though cooling as the evening gathered.
The breeze smelled sweet and earthy, of the grass and the mud and the wildflowers that struck colorful swaths through the green. Birds chirped their evening songs as they flew home to their cozy nests.
Miles away, past the rolling green hills, past the deep-flowing creek moving darkly through the tall trees, past a marsh and a tumble of rocks was a marker: a ten-foot high plinth of granite thrust up towards the sky. It was not naturally a part of these woods, but there it stood, its top still touched by the sun, its bottom in cool stony shadow.
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