The Distant Threshold
The letter lay on the scarred surface of the field desk, its paper yellowed by damp and time, the ink a faded brown that smeared slightly when Elias Thorne’s thumb brushed the edge. He had read it three times already, the words blurring into a rhythmic drone that matched the hollow ache in his lower back, a pain that had settled in after twenty years of walking the perimeter line of the...
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