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Chapter 156: The March on Mercia
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Chapter 158: The Ashes of Mercia
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... hall, but within, the hearthfire burned steady, throwing light across painted shields and carved pillars.
Roisín sat at the long table, a quill of swan feather in her hand, her youngest boy asleep against her breast.
At her side, Branúlfr, barely five winters, leaned over the table’s edge, mimicking her motions with a scrap of charcoal.
His tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration as he scrawled crude runes, each one a reflection of his father’s lessons etched int ...
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