The Distant Summer
The river did not flow; it breathed. It was a slow, tidal exhalation of grey-green water that stretched into a mist so thick it erased the horizon, leaving only the immediate, suffocating present. Elias stood on the bank, his boots sinking into mud that felt less like earth and more like the cooled blood of the land itself. He was a soldier, or he had been. The uniform was still there, a heavy...
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