The Faded Frequency
The date is the fourteenth of November, in the year of our Lord 1342. I write this from the keep at Dunbar, where the wind does not blow so much as it presses, a cold hand against the glass of the world. I am Sir Aldric, and I am tired in a way that sleep cannot fix. My desire is simple, as all military desires are: I need the grain. The garrison has forty men, and the stores are empty. The...
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