The Pale Shadows
The fog does not roll in here; it stands, a solid wall of grey silence that swallows the world whole. You are standing on the ridge of Blackwood Hill, your boots sinking into the wet heather, and you are alone. Or you think you are alone. The mist presses against your face like a damp cloth, cool and suffocating. You are looking for the anomaly. You have been looking for it for three days,...
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