The Pale Bridge
The harvest festival in the village of Oakhaven was a suffocating affair, a dense thicket of roasted pork, fermented cider, and the heavy, perfumed breath of the townspeople, all swirling around the great stone arch that spanned the muddy creek which bisected the town. It was a structure of pale, weathered limestone, ancient and silent, standing in stark contrast to the gaudy bunting and the...
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