The Faded Sutra

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2026-08-19 13:36:57 -

The Faded Sutra

The train smelled of coal dust and wet wool. It smelled of us. We were moving north. The carriage was full of children. All of them thin. All of them quiet. They sat with their knees up to their chins. They looked at the passing fields. The fields were brown and dead. It was November. The wind howled against the glass. It made a sound like a low moan. My name is Silas. I was seven. I sat by the...

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