The Grey Mist of Glen Coe

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2026-06-04 04:41:19 -

Alistair stood upon the jagged precipice of Glen Coe, where the mist clung to the heather like a shroud. It had been seven years since the Black Wolf of the Moors had torn the breath from his son’s throat—a small, fragile life extinguished in a single, visceral snap. The memory was not a flicker, but a constant, freezing rain in his soul. The village below had long since stopped mentioning the...

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