The Faded Sutra
The bread was hard. It tasted of chalk and ash. Sergeant Elias Thorne broke the crust with his teeth. He swallowed. It was dry. It was enough. He looked at the man across the fire. The man was small. He wore a tunic of rough linen. It was stained with mud. It was stained with blood. The man held a bowl. The bowl was empty. He held it out. “More,” the man said. His voice was thin. It was like...
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