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Chapter 6: A Wolf in the Fold
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... he scribe. Theron was a slip of a man, old and frail, with watery eyes and ink stains permanently embedded in the creases of his fingers. He shuffled into the tent behind the guard, clutching a stack of wax tablets and papyrus scrolls to his chest as if they were a shield. He bowed so low his forehead nearly brushed his knees, his entire body trembling. He was clearly terrified, expecting the notoriously short-tempered son of Marcus Aurelius to lash out at any moment for some unknown offense. ...
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