The Pale Verdict
The wind had teeth. It bit through the wool of his coat. It scraped against the stone. The village of Oakhaven lay below. A grey smear. A silent judgment. Elias stood at the gate. He held the shawl. It was blue. Deep indigo. Woven with silver thread. It was his wife’s. Martha’s. She was gone. Not dead. Not yet. She had walked into the mist. The mist that rolled off the lake every night. The...
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