Chapter 22
The cold stones beneath her seeped a frozen ache into her bones and as she woke, she unfolded herself in a painful stretch. Hiding beneath a stairwell, a cart and donkey fumbled by, dumping a crate of bruised turnips at the door she'd been watching. Around her, the alleys unwound with their usual morning clatter, discarded glass bottles kicked to the gutters as both animal and human trudged the murky borough. A faded sign flapped above the back door. It simply read "A.F." with a picture of a black bonnet.
She had memories of this alley. Oh yes, she did. Boring everyday ones of ricocheting pebbles against the staircase, skipping mud puddles and feeding scraps to stray kittens. But there were other memories too, of brash men and women, drinks and foul mouths, violence and clawin
