The Faded Sutra
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended curtain of grey mist that swallowed the jagged teeth of the Blackwood Ridge, blurring the line between the earth and the sky until the world was nothing but a wet, breathing void. Colonel Arthur Penhaligon walked alone into this erasure, his boots sinking into the peat with a heavy, sucking sound that seemed to vibrate up through his...
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