The Pale Path
"You're going to break the rest of them." I looked down at my hands. They were stained with green sap and dirt. The air in the workshop was thick, heavy with the scent of crushed leaves and old wood. "Just one more, Dad." My father stood in the doorway. He wore his grey cardigan, the one that always smelled of damp wool and pipe tobacco. He didn't step inside. He just watched. His eyes were...
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