The Pale Path

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2026-08-20 20:16:39 -

The Pale Path

The fog rolled off the moor like a living thing, thick and grey, swallowing the world whole. I stood at the edge of the quarry, my boots sinking into the wet shale. Beside me, Silas leaned on his pickaxe, his chest heaving. He was older than me, his face a map of deep lines carved by wind and work. We had been here for three days. No food. No water. Just the sound of the wind whistling through...

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