Chapter 8
A stray sunbeam in his eyes woke Noah. He stretched, relishing the feel of his joints popping, and sat up.
Morwen was seated in a rocking chair near the fireplace, stirring something very pleasant-smelling in a pot on the fire.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Good morning, Noah. Would you like some breakfast?”
“I would, but first I’d better hit the bathroom.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have indoor plumbing. The outhouse is around the back.”
“Okay.” He’d frequently gone camping with his pop and his brothers, and he’d used worse than a privy in the backyard. “What time is it?” He fumbled for his sneakers. Something else he’d learned—when you’re unfamiliar with an area, never go outside barefoot.
“It’s almost ten.”
“How can you tell?” There weren’t any clocks in the cabin, and she wouldn
