The Pale Echo
The rain in the Dales did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, gray silt that coated the heather and turned the muddy tracks into sucking pits that held the boots of anyone foolish enough to walk them. Elias Thorne had been walking for three days, his legs aching with a dull, rhythmic throb that matched the beat of his own heart, a sound he had learned to listen to in the quiet hours of the...
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