The man who called us into the billet was Nathaniel. “You must be hungry,” he said, taking a little wrap of flour from his swag and pouring it in a pan. “I’ll cook up some Johnnycakes for you to eat by the fire – will make you feel quite at home.”
Mother tugged at my coat, wringing the wet sleeves and leaving a pool on the floor. “Come, Myko. Sit by the fire where it is warm, you must dry yourself.”
I sat on the warm hearthstone next to Nathaniel. A grinning, barefoot girl in long trousers came to sit opposite me, pulling in her legs and resting her chin on her knees.
The smell of cooking rose around us.
“So, why have you come to Woolnorth?” asked Nathaniel.
My father was slow to answer, his few words thinning to none. He thought little of the place we had set the last of our hopes on
