The Pale Path
I The salt caravans moved through the terraced valleys of the mountain kingdom like a slow, gray tide, their oxen groaning under the weight of crates that smelled of brine and dried fish, while the wind scoured the standing stones of the plain until they rang with a hollow, metallic persistence. In the village of Khorramshahr, where the air was always thick with the damp chill rising from the...
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