The Distant Clue
The winter of 1342 settled over the valley like a shroud of wet ash, and I, Thomas, a twelve-year-old scribe’s apprentice, found my fingers stiffening in the cold. My concrete want was simple, yet it felt as heavy as the fur-lined cloak my father had left me before the fever took him: I needed to complete the illuminated manuscript by spring to secure my freedom from indenture. The opposing...
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