The Distant Summer
The fire started in the grain silo, a sudden violence that turned the twilight into a bruised purple. Thomas Ashworth stood on the ridge, his rifle loose in his hands, watching the orange tongues lick the sky. He was a man of the border, a ranger in a uniform that had seen too many winters and not enough repairs. The heat pressed against his face, dry and absolute. He did not move to fight the...
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