45
I Regret to Inform You
April 4, AD 643, Bebbanburg
Thomas hunched in the saddle. The unexpected snow had stopped overnight, but an icy wind still blew off the ocean, and he huddled closer to Missy’s bulk, trying to share some of her warmth. He hadn’t even thought to bring gloves when they left Bebbanburg in the spring sun two days ago, and his hands were freezing on the reins.
Winter seemed bent on returning. Here and there snow gathered in the dips and hollows from the squall that had passed through last night, and it was still too cold for it to melt.
He glanced at Celyn and Nona who rode beside him, each bundled in their cloaks, their cheeks ruddy with the cold. Thankfully the injury that had called them away to the remote holding had been a straightforward one, a simple leg bre
