The Pale Door
The wind did not blow so much as it screamed, a low, ragged tearing sound that seemed to come from the earth itself, ripping at the seams of the world. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice, his boots caked in the grey, frozen mud of the valley below, his rifle held not in a ready position but cradled against his chest like a sleeping child. He was not looking for enemies....
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