The Wistful Cipher
You’re not going to believe what I found in the ice, Colonel, are you? I am writing this from the outpost at Kestrel Ridge, the wind howling against the reinforced shutters like a dog that has been locked out of the house for too long, and I am trying to keep my hands steady enough to form the letters because the gin is warm in my stomach and the men are singing a song about a bear that died in...
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