The Faded Root
The road did not end where the map claimed it would, nor did the rain cease when the sky should have cleared, a persistent, gray drizzle that soaked into the wool of Thomas Bradshaw’s uniform until the fabric felt less like cloth and more like a second, wet skin that clung to his bones. He walked with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a man who had carried weight for so long that his spine had...
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