The Pale Tale
The road out of the village of Oakhaven was not merely a path but a scar in the earth, a pale ribbon of crushed chalk that wound through the dense, breathing woods where the air tasted of damp moss and ancient, rotting wood. Thomas, who was no more than twelve years of age and possessed of a face so round and unlined by the world’s cruelties that he seemed to have been carved from the same soft...
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