The Distant Garden

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2026-08-20 02:53:47 -

The mud was thick as porridge, sucking at my boots with a wet, sucking sound that seemed to come from the earth’s own gut, and I was already bleeding from the nose, a hot crimson thread that trickled down over my lip and into the collar of my tunic, mixing with the cold sweat that had begun to bead on my forehead despite the chill in the air. I remember the feeling of the iron in my hand, not...

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