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Prose

mountain-top peace

The gazebo was lit up with candles, which flickered through the patterned candle holder, forming mysterious shadows on the ground. The sides of the gazebo were draped in a thick layer of ivy from all around except the front entrance. Through there you could see down the mountain-top, a vast valley with rivers snaking down the opposite mountain. Tiny houses dotted here and there, and the sun setting behind the other mountains. Above it, a giant ombre canvas of pink, orange and blue.

The slight twittering of birds surrounded me. The refreshing smell of mint and something sugary mingled together with the faint scent of fresh fruit and reached my nose. The benches inside the gazebo were thick wooden ones, rubbed smooth after years of use. You could still see faint intials which other tourists had carved years ago, but were now almost completely rubbed smooth. I looked back down the mountain; it was a breathtaking sight.

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