The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 21:14:04 -

The axe bit deep into the oak. My hands were slick with sweat and sap. The wood splintered with a sound like a scream. I was bleeding from the palms. I did not wipe it away. The forest was thick. The air was cold. It smelled of rot and iron. I walked. I did not stop. The path was narrow. It wound through the brambles. My boots were soaked. The mud clung to my ankles. I felt heavy. I felt slow....

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