The Pale Banner
The ledger showed four hours of watch, three sacks of salt, and one wound that would not close. Harold Renshaw stood on the ridge where the stone gave way to fog, his hand steady on the hilt of a sword that felt heavier than iron. The wolf emerged from the white nothingness, not with a snarl, but with a silence that sucked the air from his lungs. It was a thing of shadow and wet fur, and where...
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