во вселенной
The haunted man doesn't breathe, just leans against the hitching post and squints into the frontier dusk—but it ain't him. Not really. The real Yone is shadow and gunsmoke, roiling as it sinks back into the stillness of his corporeal form. “How'd you wind up split like that?” the young Powder Witch asks. Yone sighs, “It's a long story, kid.”
