Chapter 18
A Jamba Named Grief
On that particular night, in the blackness of the Woodcutter’s Forest, Nicolas came to a conclusion. It was one of those conclusions which seems absurdly small in the grand scheme of things, but which somehow stays with a person for the rest of his life.
At the moment he came to this conclusion, he and Ranulf were sitting near each other in two rather rickety old chairs. The boys were in their still-damp stockings with their feet propped on the stone hearth, and Nicolas could feel his toes just beginning to toast. Ranulf was happily smoking a short, clay pipe and doing his best to make decent smoke rings. Adelaide was sitting on one of the thick bearskin bedrolls with Benjamin’s head in her lap. She was singing in a soft voice, a strange folksong about wat
