The Faded Root
The axe bites deep. You feel the wood splinter under the blade, a sharp, wet crack that echoes in the hollow of your chest. It is a sound you know better than your own heartbeat. You swing again. And again. The oak tree is dying, its bark blackened by the frost, its leaves long gone. You are chopping it down not for firewood, but for the root. The root is the only thing that matters. The root...
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