The Faded Shield
The train shook against the iron rails, a rhythmic chattering that seemed to grind at the edges of my sanity. We were moving north, toward the border, toward the place where the river widened and the fog settled low enough to swallow the footbridges. I sat in the corner of the carriage, my back pressed hard against the cold wood, my hands folded in my lap. They were still. That was the problem...
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