The Wistful Mountain
The train rattled through the valley, a skeletal iron beast breathing out plumes of white steam that hung low and heavy in the morning mist, binding the tracks to the earth with a temporary, gossamer shroud. Elias sat by the window, his knees pressed against the hard wooden seat, watching the blur of elms and oaks rush past in a streaked, monochromatic dance. He was twelve, old enough to...
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