The Distant Summer
The mud was thick. It sucked at the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne with a wet, viscous sound, like a mouth trying to swallow him whole. Rain hammered the tin roof of the barracks, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that masked the groaning of the building’s frame. Elias did not look up. He wiped the rain from his eyes with a forearm. The sleeve of his uniform was soaked through. Cold bit into the...
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