The Pale Meridian
The notice was pinned to the threshing floor door, its ink still wet and smelling of iron: By order of the Medical Board, the practice of S. MacAskill is suspended pending review of clinical irregularities. Sorcha MacAskill read it twice, her fingers trembling not from fear but from the weight of the bronze door-pivot she had just dragged across the frost-hardened ground. It was a heavy thing,...
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