The Wistful Campus
The mud sucked at Thomas’s boots with a wet, heavy groan. He pulled free. He pulled the other. The road was not a road. It was a suggestion of a road, erased by rain. He looked at Elara. She did not look back. She walked with the brisk, careless step of a girl who had never known hunger, never known the cold that bites through wool. You are walking too fast, Thomas said. She stopped. Her breath...
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