The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-19 00:56:57 -

The rain had been falling for three days, turning the mud on the road into a thick, sucking slurry that threatened to swallow the horses’ hooves whole. Thomas Ashworth sat rigid in the saddle, his hands white-knuckled around the reins, watching the grey mist cling to the pine forest like a shroud. He was a man of thirty winters, though the beard on his jaw looked older, rougher, worn by a life...

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