The Distant Crown
The mud sucked at his boots like a living thing. Elias Vance did not look down. He looked forward, into the gray throat of the forest where the trees stood like silent sentinels of a forgotten war. The rain had stopped, but the air remained heavy, thick with the scent of wet iron and rotting pine. "Left flank, Sergeant," a voice crackled in his earpiece. It was young, too young. David. David...
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