The Pale Letter
The road into the city of Oakhaven was not a road so much as a wound in the earth, a long, grey scar that had been dragged across the hills by centuries of iron-shod wheels. Elias Vane walked it with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a man who had spent forty years carrying the weight of stone on his shoulders. He was a mason, a shaper of walls, and his hands were maps of the work, knuckles swollen...
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