The Golden Mirror
The mud in the valley did not care for rank, nor for the polished brass badges that clung to the wet wool of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s tunic. He lay on his back, the cold earth seeping through his shirt, the air tasting of copper and crushed pine needles, while the man who had pinned him there struggled to rise. It was a brutal, intimate struggle, the kind that stripped away the veneer of...
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