The Wistful Saga
I "Can you feel it?" Greer Gunn asked, his voice low, barely rising above the bang of the shutter that had rattled the staff canteen all night. He stood before the exposed stone of the old mill’s foundation, his hands resting on the rough granite, forty-two years of labor etched into the knuckles. The air was thin, carrying the scent of wet wool and coal smoke, the specific heaviness of the...
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