The Faded Root
The rain on the thatch sounded like static, a white noise that had consumed the last of the silence in the Ashworth estate. Elias sat by the hearth, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The steam no longer rose; it had simply stopped being interested in the air. Outside, the mud of the valley churned under the weight of unseen boots. The war had not yet crossed...
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