The Faded River
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the distinction between the sky and the earth, turning the heath into a shivering tapestry of mud and thorn where the wind, cold and relentless, sought every gap in the flannel of the man’s coat. He walked with a gait that was less a march and more a surrender, his boots sinking into the saturated peat with a...
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