The Golden Downtown
The hawk sat on the high balcony of the Grand Hall, a speck of grey feather and black beak against the stone. It did not move. It did not blink. It watched the long table where the Council of the North sat in their heavy woolens, their faces pale and tight with the weight of the season. To the untrained eye, it was merely a bird, a scavenger seeking a crumb of bread or a scrap of meat. But to...
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