The Faded Road
The mud of the Ypres Salient did not merely soak; it consumed, a thick, black slurry that seemed to pull at Elias Thorne’s boots with a wet, tenacious hunger, as if the earth itself were a living thing trying to drag him down into its belly. He stood in the trench, his rifle slung over a shoulder that ached with a dull, persistent throb, staring at the grey, featureless sky where the sun had...
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