The Iron Wings Over the Moors
I found him in the snow behind the Higgins forge, wrapped in nothing but a blanket the color of old blood. The old couple took him in without argument. They were too old for another mouth to feed, but too kind to refuse. They called him Arthur, after a king they had read about in a tattered book, and the moors accepted him the way they accept everything — slowly, reluctantly, and with the...
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