The Faded Chronicle
The shrapnel tore through the wool coat. It hung in the air. A ragged star of gray. Elara pulled it from the mud. Her hands shook. The sound was gone. The artillery. The whistle. The scream. Silence. She held the cloth. It was warm. Not from the sun. From him. "Give it here." The voice was rough. Gravel and smoke. Captain Thorne stood over her. His face was a mask of dust. One eye swollen shut....
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