The Wistful Skyline
The dream began with the taste of iron and burnt sugar, a thick, cloying sweetness that coated the back of Sergeant Major Elias Thorne’s tongue and refused to be washed away. In the dream, he was not in the mud of the Somme, nor in the sterile, humming corridors of the modern psychiatric ward where his superiors had finally deemed him unfit for duty, but in a vast, open field that stretched out...
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