The Pale Bridge
The road to the estate was a strip of pale gravel that cut through the mist like a scar. Elias Thorne walked it with his boots heavy, the mud clinging to the leather in thick, dark clumps. He carried a sword at his hip, the steel cold against the leather of his tunic, and a small, wrapped bundle in his left hand. The bundle was warm. It had been warm for three days, ever since they pulled it...
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