Traversing through the wilderness, Troy spotted the moon behind the clouds. There was a mystic aura about it, as if it had the power to heal a thousand scars. The moonlight lit the distance he needed to cover, but the grey clouds hid the way.
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In the silence of the night, soft waves rock my boat as I cross the purple waters of the river to the other side. All I can hear is the water splashing against the oar of the small wooden boat. The tall oarsman is hooded by the darkness. I can't see his face. His long thin hands meticulously row the boat.