The Pale Door
"Are you certain the boy is not already gone?" The question hung in the thinning air, sharp and cold, as the wind stripped the last of the warmth from our coats. I did not answer immediately. I was too busy watching the rise and fall of Thomas’s chest, a shallow, rattling motion that sounded like dry leaves skittering across a stone floor. We were three days into the ascent, leaving the...
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