The Pale Shadows
The road to Millhaven is mud. It has been mud for three days. You walk it in the grey dawn, your boots sinking into the cold earth with a wet, heavy sound. You are a soldier. Or you were, before the war ended, or before you decided it had. Now you are just a man with a sword that does not fit the age. You carry it in a scabbard of worn leather against your hip. It is the only thing that feels...
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