The Pale Path
You stand at the edge of the treeline, where the asphalt road dissolves into the dark, wet soil of the forest floor, and you tell yourself that the pain in your knee is merely a symptom of the damp air, a mechanical failure of the joint rather than a herald of something far more ancient and hungry, yet you know that your hand, trembling in the pocket of your wool coat, is not shaking from the...
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