The Pale Shadows
The dream was a carving. In the black oak of the forest, his son Thomas’s face was etched in pale wood, the grain of the tree forming the lines of his eyelids, the bark roughening into the skin of his cheeks. Aldric woke with the scent of sap and rot on his tongue, the fever still clinging to his bones like a wet wool cloak. It was the year of our Lord 1348, and the winter solstice was three...
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