The Golden Farce
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the dirt road into a slurry that sucked at the wheels of your wagon, each wheel turn a laborious, groaning effort against the mud. You sit hunched in the driver’s seat, your fingers wrapped around the reins so tightly your knuckles are white, your eyes fixed on the grey dawn that offers no warmth, only the promise of another day spent running...
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