The Golden Suspect
The golden falcon sat on the perch, its weight a heavy, silent accusation against the wood, while Eadric’s hands, stained with the dust of ink and the sweat of labor, trembled as he adjusted the strap on the bird’s leg. It was the year 1187, and the court of King Harold was a place where the air tasted of rotting meat and old stone, a smell that clung to the back of the throat no matter how...
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