The Pale Path

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2026-08-18 21:54:22 -

The Pale Path

The dream was not a dream, but a suspension, a held breath in the throat of the night. Cillian saw the road again, that ribbon of crushed shale and mud cutting through the grey heath, and he saw himself walking it, a small, dark figure against the pale sky. He held the bottle. It was warm in his hand, the glass sweating condensation that smelled of salt and old iron. In the dream, he could hear...

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