The Wistful Mountain
Silvio Trapani remembered the silence of the ferry crossing, the way the water held its breath against the hull, before the engine’s cough shattered the stillness. It was a memory that had calcified in his mind, a hard stone of regret he carried in his chest, even now, as the mill siren tested the noon air with a shriek that vibrated in his teeth. He stood at the edge of the glacial valley, the...
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