The Pale Protocol
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the mud on the road to Oakhaven had turned into a thick, sucking clay that seemed determined to swallow my boots whole, a testament to the kind of wet that gets into the bones and stays there long after the sky clears, so I walked with a heavy, deliberate slowness, my hand resting on the hilt of the short sword that felt less like a weapon and more...
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