The Pale Path
The frost lay thick on the heather. It was a white, silent thing, turning the world into a sketch of itself. Thomas stood alone in the center of the moor. His boots were heavy, caked in the gray mud that had not yet frozen hard. He looked at the path before him. It was a narrow line of packed earth, barely distinguishable from the grass. But it was a border. To the left, the wildness. To the...
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