The Bread Beneath the Bridge — Under the west stair, where old mortar smelled like rain, Ronan set himself a challenge: carry one warm barley loaf to the river gate without making a single sound. Read the full story →
Under the west stair, where old mortar smelled like rain, Ronan set himself a challenge: carry one warm barley loaf to the river gate without making a single sound. If he managed it before the noon bell, he would carve a tiny star inside his practice shield where no captain would ever see.
He slipped past the armory, crossed the cold courtyard, and eased onto the drawbridge. Clink. One chain trembled above him. From under the planks came the thinnest scrape, like claws on wood. Ronan froze, paid his price by tearing his best glove on a splinter, and knelt. In the dark gap sat three shivering swifts, fallen from a nest tucked behind the portcullis.
“Hungry, then?” he whispered, breaking his own rule. He crumbled the loaf into soft gold bits and pushed them through. The noon bell boomed, too late for his star, but the birds flickered out and circled the highest flags like scraps of living sky. When Ronan returned to the west stair, his shield stayed plain, his glove stayed torn, and the warm barley smell had become a secret worth keeping—can you find where the bridge might be hiding it?
