The Distant Summer
The oak did not break with a sound; it simply ceased to hold its shape, the massive heartwood splitting vertically from the lowest root to the highest bough in a single, silent motion that Elias Thorne felt as a sharp, arrhythmic thud in his own chest while he lay in the dark of his bedroom. He sat up, the old springs of the mattress groaning in protest, and looked out the window to see the...
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