The Faded Frontier
The rain has not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turns the mud of the valley into a thick, sucking paste that tries to swallow your boots whole, and you stand at the edge of the treeline, your uniform soaked through to the skin, the wool heavy and cold as a stone in your pocket, while the village of Oakhaven crouches in the distance, its chimney smoke thin and desperate,...
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