The Faded Road
The boot print was wrong. It was the only thing that made sense in the white silence of the ridge, a single, deep impression in the fresh snow leading away from the spot where Elias Thorne had fired his weapon three days prior. He stood at the edge of the tree line, his breath pluming in the cold air, and stared at the track. It was a size ten, heavy tread, but the angle was off. It pointed...
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