The Distant Whispers
The fire took the roof at dawn. Miles stood on the porch. He watched the smoke. It was thick. Black. It smelled of pine and old fear. The village was waking up. Screams. Dogs barking. The air was hot. Too hot. He was the investigator. Or so he thought. He had come to find the arsonist. The village elder, Thomas, had called him. Thomas was a small man. Shaking. He pointed at the woods. It was...
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