The Pale Path
The count was three hundred and twelve men, down from the four hundred who had marched out of the valley three days prior. Elias Thorne checked the ledger against the mud-caked faces of his unit, his finger trembling slightly not from cold, but from the low, vibrating hum that had settled into the marrow of his bones. The Pale Path was not a road in the true sense; it was a boundary, a strip of...
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