The Pale Dance

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2026-08-20 23:24:39 -

The Pale Dance

The wind cut through the wool of his tunic. It was a cold wind, sharp as a blade. It bit at the exposed skin of his neck. He walked alone on the ridge. The path was narrow. It wound through the heather. The heather was brown. It was dry. It crunched under his boots. He held a basket in his hands. The basket was woven from willow. It was light. It was empty. Or so it seemed. He was a man of the...

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