The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-21 18:41:16 -

The road was not a road but a scar, pale and jagged, cutting through the velvet dark of the fenland. It stretched out before Thomas like a tongue of bone, slick with the breath of the earth. He walked it alone. The air tasted of iron and wet wool. He carried nothing but a satchel of salted meat and a knife with a handle worn smooth by generations of hands. The village of Oakhaven lay behind...

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