The Pale Fracture
The mud on the road to Oakhaven weighed three hundred pounds against Elias Thorne’s boots. He had counted every step since the village gate, four hundred and twelve in total, each one a small death of the muscle in his shin. The sky was the color of wet ash, a flat gray that promised nothing but more rain, a labor constraint for the men who had to drag the body from the river that morning....
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