The Pale Banner

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2026-08-20 03:07:26 -

The Pale Banner

The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed on the roof of the barracks, a steady, grey rhythm that matched the pulse in old Thomas Bradshaw’s temples. He sat on the edge of his cot, his hands resting on his knees. They were large hands, once capable of splitting oak, now trembling with a weakness he refused to name. The air smelled of wet wool and stale sweat. He looked at the door. It...

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