The Pale Garden
Chapter One Did my father actually love this land, or did he merely love the fear it instilled in those who sought to take it? I ask this now, standing in the rain at the ferry queue, the water drumming against the canvas of my coat, the cold seeping into the joints of my hands until they ache with a dull, rhythmic throb that matches the heartbeat of the engine idling behind me. The fog comes...
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