The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a cold, relentless sheet that turned the heath into a slurry of black peat and rot. Thomas Bradshaw knelt in the mud, his knees sinking into the soft earth, and watched the water pool around the roots of a solitary yew tree. The tree was ancient, its bark twisted into knotted scars that resembled the veins of a hand that had gripped something too...
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