The Golden Master
The bread was still warm when Silas first held it, the crust yielding under his thumb with a soft, yielding sigh that sounded almost like a breath. It was a loaf of sourdough, dense and dark, baked in the hearth of the High Keep, and its aroma was thick enough to taste, a yeasty, acidic sweetness that clung to the back of the throat. He stood in the center of the great hall, the stone floor...
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