The Silverwing's Vengeance
The moors of Yorkshire did not forgive, and neither did the bird. November 1847 had arrived with a violence that turned the world to iron. Rain fell not in drops but in sheets, hammering the heather into the mud. On the slopes above Blackwood Manor, Lady Catherine's hound, a golden Labrador named Bessie, had found something beneath the fallen bracken--a white hawk, its feathers matted with...
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