The Pale Protocol
12 October 1892 The wind has a bite today. It cuts through the wool of my coat and settles into the marrow, a cold that does not leave with the sun. I am forty-two years old, and I have held the northern gate for twenty years. My back aches in a way that suggests the end is near, but the gate must be secure before the snows come. It is a simple duty. Keep the path clear of unauthorized traffic....
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