31
The morning smelled fresh and clean, becoming more so almost as soon as they cleared the outskirts of the village. The blue sky, streaked with wisps of white cloud, promised a fine and dry day, the best they had had since arriving.
Trundling across the open countryside, both deep in their own thoughts, they came over the brim of a gentle hill and stopped to stare towards the road that led to Turney’s farm. Richard wondered what had become of the farmer. The last image he had was of the wretched man tied to a wooden post, his fate sealed. But soon the nightmare of their own dilemma forced all thoughts of Turney far from Richard’s mind. Had he too, like Brian, Edwin, even his dog Jasper, become nothing more than a piece of flotsam, useless, discarded by those vile devils led by the gran
