The Wistful Mountain
The air in the great hall hung heavy with the scent of roasted pheasant and old beeswax, a suffocating perfume that seemed to coat the throat and silence the laughter of the officers who gathered around the long oak table, their faces flushed with brandy and the easy confidence of men who had not yet learned the true cost of the war they were fighting. You sat at the far end of the table, your...
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