The Faded River
The mud under your boots is cold and heavy, sucking at the heels with a wet, relentless pull. You are running, but the motion feels distant, like a dream you are having while awake. The air tastes of copper and burnt timber. Around you, the world is dissolving into gray mist and the distant, rhythmic thud of artillery that shakes the fillings in your teeth. You are not thinking about survival....
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