The Pale Path
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a thick, grey curtain that erased the horizon and turned the moor into a soup of peat and silence. Silas Vane walked with the mechanical precision of a man who had forgotten how to feel his own joints, his boots sinking into the mud that seemed to pull at him with a viscous, hungry weight. He was a surveyor of the old school, a man who mapped the...
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