The Faded Root
Blackwood Mill, November 14, 1924 The mud here is not merely wet; it is a living, sucking thing that has consumed the boots of every man who has ever stood in this valley, and I find myself sinking to the knee in it, my hand wrapped around the cold, slick iron of the main turbine housing, trying to keep my balance while the wind howls through the broken slats of the window above me. I am...
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