Mornings at the Gate
The village learned to measure time differently after he disappeared.
Not in days.
Not even in months.
But in mornings.
Because every morning at 5:45, without fail, Corporal walked to the same place.
The front gate.
The stone path was worn slightly smoother there, as if repetition itself had reshaped the ground. Frost, rain, early sunlight—none of …
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