The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-23 15:37:41 -

The mud of the Somme had a specific gravity, a thick, sucking consistency that seemed to pull the very marrow from one’s bones, and it was there, in the black, rain-slicked earth of a trench that smelled of rot and cordite, that Sergeant Elias Thorne dug with a spade until his hands bled, not for cover, nor for a rifle, but for a single, impossibly vibrant vine of wisteria that had taken root...

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