The Pale Path
The wind in the high moors did not howl so much as it whispered, a low, guttural vibration that seemed to come from the very stones beneath their boots, a sound that had been there since before the first man drove a stake into the black earth, a sound that spoke of things older than memory, older than the names they gave to the stars. Silas Vane stood at the edge of the cliff, his breath...
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