The Distant Ghost
The mist in the valley of Oakhaven did not merely hang in the air; it possessed a weight, a viscous quality that pressed against the skin like a damp wool blanket, and it was in this suffocating grayness that Elara Vane stood with a sharpened iron rod, her breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps as the spectral wolf emerged from the shadows of the loom shed. The beast was not solid, its form...
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