The Faded Dust
The mud in the trench was thick, a cold paste that sucked at my boots with every step. My left hand was a ruin. The crossbow bolt had not just broken the bone; it had shredded the tendon, turning the limb into a useless, swollen mass of meat and splintered white. I leaned against the wet earth, gasping, the taste of iron and fear thick in my mouth. I wanted only to live. I wanted to walk back...
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