The Distant Cartograph
The mud of the Somme did not merely stick to Elias Thorne’s boots; it swallowed him, a cold, heavy slurry that seemed to pull at his very bones as he crouched in the trench beside Corporal Miller, whose chest heaved with the wet, rattling rattle of a man whose lungs were filling with blood and the pulverized chalk of the earth. The air was thick with the acrid stench of cordite and rotting...
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