The Faded River
The frost came early. It crept up the black iron rails of the bridge and settled in the cracks of the cobblestones. Silas Vance stood at the edge of the mill pond. He held a bucket. The wood was wet. Cold seeped into his palms. He was a man of few words. Fewer thoughts. He moved through the town of Oakhaven like a ghost through a house. The town was gray. The smoke from the chimneys was gray....
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