The Golden Visit
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in sheets, cold and relentless, turning the mud of the King’s Highway into a sucking pit that threatened to swallow us whole. I walked behind Edward. His cloak was soaked through, the wool heavy with water, hanging in tattered strips around his legs. He did not complain. He never did. He simply adjusted the strap of his crossbow and kept moving,...
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