“Gentlemen.” Colin Butler, Viscount Gelroy, addressed the ragged band of farmers gathered around him.
Nods greeted him, but excessive displays of obeisance had long since collapsed.
“How goes it?” he asked, stomach jumping. We"re so close to disaster. Another month, Lord, please. And another idea. Any idea.
We"re so close to disaster. Another month, Lord, please. And another idea. Any idea.A blond man in his early fifties, his hair streaked with silver, his face with dirt, scratched a cheek that seemed too hollow for his hearty frame and answered, “It could be worse, my lord. The red fescue is coming up nicely, along with clover and wildflowers. The fields look right pretty, and they have a chance to heal now.”
Colin sighed. “Well, that"s good, at least, Bullock. I appreciate how all o
