The Pale Fracture
Thomas Bradshaw sat alone in the watch-hut at the foot of the Pale, and the crack in the wall talked in its sleep. Three years had passed since the last northern raid burned the outer fields, and two since the masons laid the great white stones in a ring around Morrowgate. They had cut them from the chalk quarries beyond the river, dragged them up the frozen cart road, and set them so close...
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