12
“Are you not hungry?”
Thomas glanced at Celyn, startled from his reverie by the other man’s words. He flushed and looked down at the mush, some sort of porridge, that cooled in his bowl. It didn’t taste half bad, especially with the addition of thick cream and honey, but Thomas had hardly touched it.
Apparently it was another couple days’ ride from here to Bebbanburg, as long as the weather cooperated. It might be awhile before he had a chance to fill his stomach. He forced it down, even though his gut was in knots.
Fey. Nephilim. The meeting with Godric in the night was like a dream, the memory of it even more bizarre in the light of day. The whole thing made no sense. But he was here, after all. And that was what scared him most, for it meant that what the harper had said must be
