The Pale Altar
The mud was deep. It sucked at the boots of the soldiers. Thomas pulled his feet free. He looked up. The sky was grey. It hung low. It pressed down on the town of Oakhaven. They had marched for three days. Their legs burned. Their stomachs growled. They were hungry. They were tired. They were afraid. Thomas stopped walking. He leaned against a fence. The wood was wet. It was cold. He watched...
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