The Faded Frontier
The mud on my boots was black and slick, smelling of iron and old rain, and it had caked so thickly into the treads that I could barely feel the ground beneath me, yet here I was, standing in the middle of a field that should not have existed, a place where the sky was the color of a bruise and the grass grew in spirals that defied the wind, and I held in my hands the tattered remains of a blue...
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