The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 08:03:09 -

The mud was thick and black and smelled of rotting leaves and old blood, and young Thomas Bradshaw was knee-deep in it, his boots slipping with every desperate lunge he made at the towering shadow that loomed over him in the grey dawn, his breath coming in ragged, wet sobs that turned to ice in his lungs as he swung a rusted iron bar at the figure, missing by inches, the metal clang echoing off...

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