The Distant Ghost
The mud on the road from Oakhaven to the border had a particular consistency that morning, thick and clinging, like wet wool. Elias dragged his boots through it, each step a small, deliberate act of resistance against the ground’s desire to swallow him. He was a man who had learned early that the world was not a place of reason but of friction. He carried a satchel of leather and iron, worn...
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