The Pale Path
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell with a persistent, rhythmic patience that seemed to erode the very edges of the world, blurring the line between the muddy shoulder of the road and the gray expanse of the heath. Elias Thorne walked the path, his boots heavy with the clay of the valley floor. He was a man who had spent thirty years walking lines, first the straight, painted lines...
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