25: Fire
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oak trees stood almost bare, their yellow leaves fallen. The cattle had been brought from their summer pasturage and lodged wherever they might find shelter from the harsh winds that blew across the high chalk hill. The flint miners worked only a short time during the day, since they could not light fires in the low galleries for fear of suffocation, and dusk came early now.
In Garroch’s house the air was warm, the sheepskins thickly strewn about. All was comfort there.
Isca lay smiling, gazing towards the chimney hole, watching the blue woodsmoke curling up and then out into the deep blue-black of the sky. Garroch kneeled beside her, his hand hidden in the long rich waves of her hair. His lean dark features held the expression of a man who is at last contented, a creatu
