The King's Standard

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2026-06-19 17:46:34 -

The wind on the highlands did not care about kings. It blew across the moors with the same indifferent force whether it carried the cry of a dying soldier or the song of a lark. Ewan MacLeod had learned this as a boy, herding sheep on slopes so steep that the earth seemed to tilt toward the sky. It was April 1746, and the wind carried the smell of smoke and blood. Culloden had ended three...

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