The Distant Affair
The pass was blocked again, the mist rolling in from the east like a wall of wet wool that smelled of rotting kelp and old blood. I stood at the edge of the treeline, my boots sinking into the mud that had turned to slush under the weight of the autumn rains, and watched the silver locket in my hand catch the dim light. It was a small thing, worn thin at the edges, the silver tarnished to a...
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