The Pale Path
The mud clung to my boots with the tenacity of a dying dog, sucking at my heels as I stumbled forward through the weeping fog of the Blackthorn Valley, a place where the air tasted of iron and rotting leaves, and the very ground seemed to pulse with a slow, arrhythmic heartbeat that I could feel vibrating up through the soles of my feet, a sensation that was both terrifying and strangely...
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