The Wistful Campus
The mud clings to your boots with a persistence that feels almost like a curse, sucking at your heels as you drag your body forward through the knee-deep slurry of the field, the rain hammering down on your helm in a relentless, drumming rhythm that drowns out the screaming of the wounded and the clash of steel. You are gasping, your lungs burning with the cold, wet air, and every muscle in...
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