The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-19 09:42:01 -

The Wistful Saga

The mud on my boots was not just dirt. It was the red clay of the riverbank, mixed with the ash of the last three days, a substance that had hardened into a second skin against my legs. I sat on a flat stone that jutted out from the water, my back against the cold, damp bark of a willow that hung low over the current. My hands were wrapped around a clay bowl. Inside, the porridge was thick,...

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