The Distant Summer

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 11:03:35 -

The wind smelled of rust and wet ash. I held my rifle tight. My knuckles were white. The forest was wrong. It was too quiet. The pines stood like sentries, but they did not sway. The air was thick. It pressed against my eardrums. "Stay close, Thomas," I said. My voice sounded foreign. Hollow. Thomas looked at me. He was small. He wore a grey coat that was too big for him. It hung off his...

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