The Pale Shadows
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the muddy track into a slurry that sucked at the boots of the two men walking in the gray twilight, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and the metallic tang of impending violence. Thomas Bradshaw, whose uniform was stained with the mud of the valley and the darker stains of old blood, held the leather-bound ledger against his chest as if it...
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