The Distant Clue
The feast hall smelled of roasted boar and wet wool, a thick, suffocating scent that clung to the back of Sir Alistair’s throat. He stood apart from the laughter, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though the blade beneath the leather was already cold. The Shadow Cloak lay draped over his shoulders, a heavy fabric that seemed to drink the candlelight rather than reflect it. It was not...
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