那条往北去的路走了约莫一炷香,风渐渐小了,只剩荻花絮子零星落在衣上,沾着,不落。
夜扶苏没有开口,沈怀烛也没有。两个人一前一后走着,脚步踩在干硬的泥路上,发出沉实的声响,走一步,响一步,不急。
路旁有几株枯死的芦苇,杆子折了一半,剩下的那半斜着,杆尖悬在半空,被风轻轻顶着,来回晃,晃了很久,没折。
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