The Distant Journey
The mud at Blackwood Garrison was not brown but a dark, sucking grey that pulled at the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne as he stood in the yard, his hands buried in the earth to keep them from shaking. The blizzard had ended three hours ago, but the cold remained, a physical weight that settled into the joints and the lungs, and the barracks around him stood silent, their windows dark against...
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