The Pale Path
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended curtain of grey water that blurred the edges of the village of Oakhaven into a smear of slate and moss. Inside the stone hall, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and old wood, a smell that clung to the lungs like a memory one refused to let go of. Silas stood by the heavy oak doors, his back to the room, watching the fog roll in...
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