Prologue (Draft)

APNEA

The old man awoke with the fading edges of a dream still clinging to him like the last wisps of morning mist. In the dream, he had been standing on a hill, a letter in his hand, overlooking a landscape dotted with sparse stone houses, their chimneys whispering threads of smoke into the cold sky. Below, the fields stretched out in shades of green and brown, sheep grazing lazily as if unaware of his presence. There had been a sense of waiting, a pause in the world, and he could not shake the feeling that the letter he held was heavier than paper, heavier than any words it might contain.


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