The Blood Orchard
The wind in the American Midwest did not blow; it scoured. It carried a fine, red dust that coated everything—the fences, the porches, the lungs of the people who were stubborn enough to stay. In the heart of the Dust Bowl, Elias lived on a farm that had once been a paradise of apple orchards, now reduced to a graveyard of bleached branches and cracked earth. His only companion was a mule named...
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