The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-16 21:48:54 -

The Pale Bridge

The tables stood on the bridge. All the way from the east gate to the abbey's western tower, the pale stones of the crossing bore lanterns and linen and the smell of new bread. It was the Feast of the Bridge, the oldest holiday in Thornford, and the whole town had climbed the hill to walk on the river's roof. The young danced. The old talked. The Abbot's table stood at the crown of the arch,...

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