The Wistful Voyage
The train cut through the grey November mist, a steel needle stitching the fractured landscape of the Midlands into a single, mournful thread. Inside, the air tasted of recycled ozone and damp wool. Elias sat by the window, his knees pressed against the cold glass, watching the fields blur into streaks of ochre and mud. He was twelve, old in the eyes of his body, young in the eyes of the world,...
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