The Distant Legend
Thorne, you’re spilling the wine again. Sergeant Elias Thorne wiped his hand on his trousers, the red stain spreading like a bruise. He was thirty-four, a man who had served eight years in the King’s Royal Rifles, and he felt the weight of the tunic pulling at his shoulders. His wife, Clara, sat beside him, her hand warm in his. He wanted a transfer to the coast. He wanted the salt air and the...
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