48
Shaped to His Purposes
Godric waited in the cold shed, his cloak wrapped around him for warmth. The candle he had lit flickered occasionally, sending shadows jumping eerily against the humped shapes of the saddles that were piled up against the walls. Luckily it also threw a little warmth. Rain had started to fall, and the wind gusted through the cracks in the wall. He was glad of the ale that coursed through his blood, even though he knew that its warmth was an illusion.
He hadn’t drank enough to cloud his mind, though. He needed his wits for the meeting with the wilding. A shudder shook him that had nothing to do with the cold, and a bitter, blazing need sprang to life within him. He was so close to setting the trap, to achieving his goal. A small titter escaped him.
He stopped ab
