The Pale Meridian
Dreaming of salt. Not the sea. The flat, gray pans of the inland marsh. White crust under black boots. A heavy, wet silence. Elias woke with his mouth tasting of iron. He sat up. The bedframe creaked. The room was cold. A draft slipped under the door. He rubbed his face. His hands were shaking. Not from cold. From fear. He dressed. Shirt. Trousers. Boots. No tie. He looked in the mirror. The...
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