The Wistful Witness
The mist in the Grey Vale did not behave like weather, but rather like a living thing that had forgotten how to die, clinging to the damp earth with a tenacity that defied the physics of the atmosphere. Elias Thorne stood on the ridge, his boots sunk into the mud that felt unnervingly warm beneath the cold, his left knee a swollen, throbbing knot of pain that signaled the final betrayal of his...
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