83.

Sunlight stains the boat deck. The fishermen towel themselves dry, circling the twitchless corpse of a swordfish, patting themselves on their backs, cursing in jubilation. The general sees his imminent defeat writ across the valley, the day-bright hills saturated in blood and bodies and smoke too thick for hope to navigate. “Let’s pose for a picture!” prompts the captain; his vessel rocks a little harder.

grh

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