The Pale Circus
The frost had not yet claimed the valley of Oakhaven, but it held the air in a tight, brittle grip, and twelve-year-old Elias stood before Elder Thomas Bradshaw with his knuckles white around the hilt of a rusted spade. The elder, a man whose face was a map of deep furrows and old grief, looked down at the boy with eyes that had seen too many winters. "You seek the Pale Stag," Bradshaw said,...
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