Chapter Five
“GOD’S WOUNDS,” LUCAS swore.
He leaned on the wooden crutch Duvall fashioned for his use, staring down the river. He envied the river its freedom. It could come and go where it pleased. As for him, this was as close to freedom as he had get and as far from the valley’s forest and its web of overhanging branches.
“I am caught,” he said.
He was talking to himself. That was a bad sign. His mind wandered to the Kronos and the lonely hours he had spent with Peter.
“Damn it.”
He tore his mind from the past. He had enough gloominess right here and now. Three weeks since the amputation and he had begun to grudgingly accept his crippling.
It was necessary.
They had told him it was necessary.
He supposed they’d told the truth.
“Bastards.”
He was getting the hang of the crutch
