The Distant Nightmare
The rain was not falling; it was being thrown. It hammered against the canvas of the wagon with a violence that made the wheels tremble in the mud, a rhythmic, sickening thud that vibrated up through the iron rims and into the soles of your boots. You sat in the corner, knees drawn to your chest, your hands wrapped tightly around a small, leather-bound book. The leather was cold, slick with the...
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