The Cock-House at Fellsgarth

The story opens on the first night at Fellsgarth, a storied boarding school perched where the Shale and Shargle rivers meet. Its ivy‑clad walls and battered watch‑tower echo centuries of history, from Tudor monasteries to post‑Civil War renovations. As the term begins, the great hall swells with the clamor of two hundred and fifty hungry boys, their laughter and chatter as loud as an express train in a tunnel.

Amid the bustling crowd sit two fresh arrivals, strangers to the school’s noisy rituals. Their nervous hearts beat louder than the surrounding din, yet they manage a modest meal while the older juniors tease them about stitched buttons and cheap pudding. Their quiet observations hint at a keen mind already taking note of the strange customs and whispered rumors that swirl through the corridors.

The atmosphere is a blend of nostalgic tradition and youthful excitement, setting the stage for the newcomers to navigate friendships, hidden corners of the ancient building, and the subtle mysteries that linger behind Fellsgarth’s red brick façade.