The Pale Path
The mud of the valley floor was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing, a dark mirror that reflected the bruised purple of the evening sky and the jagged, iron-grey teeth of the hills surrounding us. I stood there, my boots sinking into the slurry with a sound like tearing wet cloth, the weight of the heavy canvas satchel at my hip threatening to drag me under. Inside that satchel lay...
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