The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 02:31:35 -

The fire took the gatehouse first. Then the barracks. Then the silence. I stood on the ridge. My hands shook. The cold bit into my knuckles. I was a soldier. I wore the gray wool tunic. It was stiff with sweat. It was heavy. It smelled of smoke and old blood. I looked down at the valley. The flames were orange. They licked the sky. The air tasted of ash. I breathed it in. It burned my lungs....

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