The Faded Frequency
The mud sucked at my boots. It was thick, black, and cold. I pulled free with a grunt. My axe hung low. The enemy was close. Too close. I saw the glint of steel in the fog. I swung. The wood shattered. A body fell. I did not check for a pulse. I moved. The air tasted of iron and wet stone. I am writing this by firelight. The ink is thin. It smears on the parchment. My hand shakes. Not from...
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