The Wistful Saga
The ledger showed three days of rations, two bottles of brandy, and one pair of good boots, all of which Elias Thorne had counted out with hands that trembled so violently he nearly dropped the quill. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant with fifteen years of service etched into the gray of his uniform, and he was dying in a room that smelled of stale tobacco and damp wool. The fever had...
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