Chapter 17Out in Henry’s meadow, they made preparations. They’d eaten on the walk, sausage rolls and apples and cheese; Henry’d seemed happier, almost lighthearted, boots on familiar beloved ground. Theo liked seeing that, and they fell into step easily, despite Henry’s longer legs. Theo walked quickly, and therefore they fit. They so often did, it seemed.
Theo was not and had never been a particularly out-of-doors sort of person—he’d once brought all three volumes of Denny’s History of English Word-Hoards to a picnic, as Clarence sometimes reminded him—but the day was pleasant if chilly, washed in autumnal light and caressed by the scents of green growing grass and small fading wildflowers and open air. And this was Henry’s home. Henry’s anchor.
He paused, hand resting over a hawthorn t
