The Golden Visit
The mud of the Blackwood Valley had a way of clinging to the soul, not just the boots, and Sergeant Elias Thorne knew this with the certainty of a man who had spent twenty years serving a flag that no longer existed. It was the autumn of 1893, and the air smelled of wet iron and decaying leaves, a scent that seemed to seep into the pores of his skin. In his left hand, he held a sealed letter,...
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