The Wistful Silence
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, wet blanket that smothered the moors of the Scottish Highlands in a silence so profound it felt like the absence of air itself, and Corporal Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the heather, his boots sinking into the mud that seemed to pull at his ankles with a jealous, hungry grip, while the storm howled a low, guttural note that vibrated in...
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