The Pale Tale

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2026-08-20 01:05:51 -

The Pale Tale

The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the barracks, a relentless, hollow rhythm that seemed to hollow out the men inside. I sat by the cold hearth, cleaning my pistol. The steel was cold. My hands were cold. The air smelled of wet wool and old sweat. Elias stood by the window. He watched the mud slide down the hillside. He did not speak. He never spoke...

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