The Faded Frontier
Chapter One Could a man truly be defined by the objects he refused to break? I asked myself this as I packed my kit, the gas ring hissing its low, hungry note in the corner of the bedsit. The air was sharp with the scent of damp wool and old rust, a cold that settled in the marrow. I held the porcelain crane in my left hand, its glaze cracked down the neck, a fracture I had caused three years...
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