The Pale Path
The charcoal stick snaps against the rough grain of the survey board, a sharp, dry crack that echoes in the hollow of the mist-choked highland valley, and you do not wipe the dust from your fingers but instead press the broken tip harder into the wood, tracing the jagged line of the Pale Path as it curves away from the border stone. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden of forty years, and your...
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