The Wistful Ashes
You walk the ridge with the weight of the law in your coat pockets, heavy as wet stone. The air is thin and tastes of coal smoke and iron, a flavor that has settled into your sinuses over the last three years of service. Below you, the valley stretches out in a patchwork of gray fields and black industrial chimneys, exhaling a constant shroud of soot that turns the midday sun into a dull,...
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