Japon_ une ancienne route de campagne, Sagari, la Tête Suspendue - 3 - Le Cri_20

On the old roads of western Japan, a night traveler learns to keep a close watch on the trees that line the path. At a bend in the road stands a hackberry tree—older than the road that winds around it—its trunk a weathered gray, its crown a deep, abyssal black against a sky only marginally less dark. Nothing stirs within it. Suddenly, something heavy descends from the branches amid a rustle of agitated leaves, coming to a halt at the height of a man’s face—and lets out a shriek. It hangs there in the darkness, swaying slightly from the impact of its fall: the severed head of a horse, and nothing more.

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