Hot Sleep
“Except for the scratching of the point on the paper, the room was silent, until Hoom laid down the pen, sat up straight, and stretched, sighing softly.
He got up and walked to the window, which was barred. His fingers played along the bar, but he didn't lift it. He was confined to his room for a week, except for labor with his father on the farm. And Aven had gone so far, this time, as to insist that the window remain closed. Of course Aven would never know, this late at night, whether he was obeyed or not — but Hoom suspected that his father was so angry, this time, that he'd at least consider watching one night outside Hoom's room, just to see if he was obeyed.
Not worth a chance, Hoom decided. His back was still stiff from the last beating — the tenth in as many months. I will be fourteen next month, he reminded himself. Then I can move out of here and never see my father again.
Today his oldest brother, Grannit, at the age of thirty–two already a grandfather, had talked to him.
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