Chapter 7
It was very, very late when Thomas reached the smith’s doorstep.
He had no idea how long the journey through the woods had taken. Every second step had ended in a stub, or a trip, or a stumble that turned the dull aches of his body into sharp, jarring pains. He fell several times, and each time a darkness that could have been momentary or hours long claimed him. He had desperately wanted to give in; to find a hollow in the earth and sleep. Fear kept moving him forward. Fear of what his father had done to his mother. Fear of the bishop and those bravos who beat him. Fear, most of all, that he was hurt inside as well as out, and that falling asleep would mean not waking up again.
Dark windows gazed down on him as he stumbled to the smith’s door. No sound came from inside. The fa
