The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-19 05:04:14 -

The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, gray silt that coated the world in a fine layer of despair, turning the heather on the moors into a bruised purple bruise against the bone-white sky. Thomas Ashworth walked the perimeter of the camp, his boots sinking into the mud that seemed to possess a memory of every soldier who had ever dragged their weight through it. He was a man of...

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