The Distant Summer
The river had a name that no longer fit the water. "Did you hear it?" Thomas asked, his voice thin against the heavy, wet air of the mill. He stood by the wheel, his hands wrapped around the wooden spokes, as if he could stop the turning of the world by sheer will. "I heard it, Elias. The water is singing. It’s been singing for three days." Elias did not look up from the ledger he was balancing...
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