The Pale Bridge

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 08:51:06 -

The Pale Bridge

The brass buckle of my kit strap was cold against my palm, a small, hard coin of metal that smelled of sweat and old brass polish. I held it in my left hand while my right adjusted the pack on my back, the leather creaking with the dry, brittle sound of a man who had forgotten how to move without purpose. Outside the window of my cramped room in the barracks, the city of Harrowgate was waking...

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