The Pale Exile

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2026-08-24 18:33:05 -

The Pale Exile

June Muncy drove the iron stake into the mud, the hammer striking the head with a dull, wooden thud that echoed off the skeletal trees of the highlands. He was thirty-two, a border warden for the canal authority, and his hands were raw from the cold, the leather of his gloves split at the knuckles where he had gripped the haft too tightly. The mist was not merely weather; it was a physical...

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