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... sound. The yard no longer rang with the brittle echo of frozen ground under boots. Footsteps landed heavier now, duller, absorbed by earth that had begun to soften again. Carts creaked differently. Horses snorted more, steam rising not from exertion but from damp hides.
Winter was loosening its grip without asking permission.
Phillip woke before the sounder that morning, the habit persisting even as necessity faded. He lay still for a moment, listening to the house. Henry’s breat ...
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