The Pale Tale
The road into the valley of Oakhaven was a ribbon of grey gravel that wound between the mist-shrouded hills, and Elias Thorne walked it with a heavy, deliberate pace. He carried no pack, only the weight of the silence that had settled over him three days prior. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves, a scent that seemed to cling to his wool coat, soaking into the fibers like a stain...
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