The Wistful Saga
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the water had risen to the level of the window sills in the lower barracks, turning the mud outside into a thick, sucking slurry that seemed to pull at our boots with a malevolent intent. I stood by the open door, watching the grey curtain of mist that hung over the valley, and I felt a strange, heavy calm settle in my chest, a calm that did not...
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