The Pale Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 10:06:34 -

The Pale Garden

Who holds the line when the line is sold? The fog burned off by ten, leaving the terraced ash of the highlands stark and white. I was thirty-five, a border guard, and my hands shook from the cold and the adrenaline of the fight. I had secured the route before my father’s funeral, a duty I swore too young, an oath that now tasted like iron in my throat. The poacher lay at my feet, gasping, his...

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