Bull Run
“The very battle I’d wanted a part in was booming just a few miles off, while I sat on a log and whittled a stick. The older Georgia boys who’d joined would come home loaded down heavy as peddlers with Yankee guns and medals and glory. And with scars to put on public display. I’d stare like the rest, quiet as a clam. I’d have been there as well, but would have to ask them to tell me exactly what had happened. The thought chafed me fierce. I snapped my knife shut.
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