The Faded River

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2026-08-19 20:18:08 -

The Faded River

The mud at the edge of the fen is not like the mud of the village lane. It is older, colder, and it does not care who you are. It swallows the boots of the righteous and the wicked with the same indifferent hunger. You stand at the water’s edge, the air thick with the scent of rotting reeds and wet wool, and you feel the weight of your authority settle upon your shoulders. It is a heavy mantle,...

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