The Serpent of Briarwood
The swamp did not care about the dead. It swallowed them the same way it swallowed everything—slowly, patiently, without ceremony. The water was brown and still and full of things that moved beneath the surface, things that had names in languages that predated every language spoken by the people who came to write about them. The cypress trees stood in the water like sentinels, their knees...
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