The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-22 23:13:57 -

The rain was not falling so much as being driven horizontally into the peat, a grey wall of water that turned the moor into a churning, brown slurry where the boots sank to the ankles with a sucking sound that was the only rhythm in the silence. "Thorne," a voice called out from the ridge above, the wind stealing half the syllables before they reached the ground, "hold your position until the...

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