The Distant Clue
The smoke tastes of copper and burnt wool, a thick, cloying taste that coats your tongue and settles deep in the throat, and you are holding the line, you are holding the line, your hands shaking so violently against the cold iron of the rifle stock that you cannot feel the cold anymore, only the heat of the explosion that just tore the earth open three yards to your left, sending a shower of...
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