The Faded Frequency
The wind had teeth. It gnashed against the canvas of my tent, a sound like dry bones snapping in the dark. I pulled the wool blanket tighter. The cold was a physical weight. It pressed against my ribs. It sought the gaps in my armor. There were no gaps left. Only holes. I checked the watch. Three a.m. The face was cracked. The hands still moved. They moved with a stubborn, mechanical fidelity....
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