The Faded River
The stone groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled up through the soles of my boots and settled heavily in my chest, signaling the first fracture in the central arch of the bridge. I stood at the parapet, my hands gripping the cold, wet masonry, watching as the winter mud threatened to swallow the timber supports I had spent three weeks reinforcing. The year was 1342, and the river below...
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