Box 1

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Box 2

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The Saviour

Lost in the dark. Pushing through dense undergrowth for what seems like hours, shredded by thorns and whipped by wet branches. No path, just this squalid passage of mud and rain, deep in the wet entrails of the hill.

Halfway up you falter, bereft of prospect. Push on to an uncertain outcome, or break your legs slipping and slithering back down the filthy drain?

You’re just about to give up, fall into sodden, despairing stillness, when the light gleams an instant.

The clasp of a gloved hand, warm in your grasp.