The Pale Path
In the crofting country, the smoke did not rise so much as it pooled, a thick, gray blanket that trapped the village in a silence heavier than the mud underfoot. The forge bellows worked in the distance, a rhythmic heaving that sounded like the lungs of a dying beast, and it was this sound, more than the sight of the fog, that told Calum Sempill where he was. He stood in the center of the hall,...
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