The Wistful Saga
The road is mud. It sucks at your boots with a wet, heavy sound. You walk. You do not stop. The rain is cold. It soaks through your tunic. You are wet to the bone. You are tired. Your legs ache. You carry nothing but your guilt. It sits on your chest like a stone. You remember the last time you were here. It was spring. The air was sweet. You were young. You were brave. Or so you told yourself....
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