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April-1185

Baldwin sped on up the hill, pulling his horse to a stop along the crest. He looked on into the distance, his eyes surveying the path of the narrow road, as it wound its way through the French country-side. The thundering sound of hoof beats were heard as Baldwin’s companions caught up with their fellow knight. “Your home, my lord?” a young soldier on horseback asked with gleeful inquisition. The faint quality of a smile grew over Baldwin’s tired and wearisome face, “Yes.” They paused for a moment to admire the beauty of the French country. Small farms and settlements dotted the country, a river cutting through the green lands and the faint ringing of Church bells made it a charming vision in the spring morning. Baldwin seemed most enthralled by the beautiful scenery, “France…” he murmured.

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