The roof of the granary collapsed while you were still sleeping.
It was not a thunderclap, nor the groan of old timber giving way to the inevitable. It was a sound like a heavy book being slammed shut on a table of stone. Dust rained down on your face, tasting of rot and dry straw. You did not wake immediately. You lay in the tangle of wool blankets, your heart hammering a dull, rhythmic thud...
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