The Pale Meridian
The forest did not breathe; it held its breath, a vast, stagnant lung of pine and decay that swallowed the light of the midday sun and returned it only as a gray, watery murmur on the forest floor. I walked with my rifle slung low against my hip, the weight of it a familiar anchor in the shifting sands of my duty, while the path beneath my boots crumbled into a slurry of moss and rot. We had...
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