The Golden Quest
The feast was loud. It smelled of roasting pork and damp wool. I sat in the corner. My mother sat beside me. She was not eating. She was watching the fire. The fire was high. It burned the thatch. Sparks flew. They landed on my father’s tunic. He did not move. He drank. He laughed. The laughter was dry. It cracked in the throat. I was twelve. My hands were cold. The hall was warm. The air was...
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