The Pale Path

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 06:08:16 -

The Pale Path

The bread went stale before we even left the village square, and I did not care. I held it in my hand like a stone, watching the crust crack under the weight of my grip. My father, Thomas, walked ahead of me, his shoulders hunched against a wind that smelled of wet ash and old iron. We were leaving. That was the only thing that mattered. The rest was noise, the chatter of the neighbors, the...

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