The Golden Ritual
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the red clay of the valley into a slick, breathing mud that sucked at your boots with a wet, greedy sound. You stood at the edge of the ridge, your uniform soaked through, the wool heavy and cold against your skin, and you looked down at the convoy moving slowly below you. The engine of the lead truck groaned, a low, dying moan that seemed to...
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