The Pale Banner
The road is wet. You walk it. Your boots are heavy. Leather soaks through. Cold seeps in. You do not stop. You must not stop. The village is ahead. A gray smear. A cluster of stone. Smoke rises. Thin. Straight. No wind. Your hand grips the hilt. The iron is cold. It bites your palm. This is the thing. This is the only thing. The sword is your body. Your breath. Your heart. It does not beat. It...
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