The Wistful Letter
The wind did not howl, not in the way the old men in the valley described it, but rather it sighed, a long, low exhalation that seemed to come from the earth itself, a breath held for centuries finally released into the bitter, modern air of the Appalachian highlands. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the timber line, his boots sinking into the mud that had turned to clay under the...
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