The Distant Journey

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2026-08-17 21:35:58 -

The road is a scar. It cuts through the heath. The mud is black. It clings to your boots. You are walking. You have always been walking. The sun is low. It hangs like a bruised apple on the horizon. The air is cold. It bites your lungs. You are old. Your joints ache. The pain is a familiar tenant. It does not knock. It simply lives in your bones. You carry the sword. It is heavy. The steel is...

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