“The wind still had a wetted edge to it, but at least the rain had stopped. Pale clouds were scudding across the moon, but the skies were clearing. The bell would ring for the midnight prayers soon, but the food for the village was prepared at long last. The pots would simmer slowly until morning. The wind hungrily devoured the rich aroma of herbs and mutton, wafting it out into the night air. I wondered if the wind would carry it as far as the village. If they could smell it, sitting there cold... and wet with rumbling bellies, they’d curse us to Hell and back. Holding the lantern aloft, I tiptoed into the cote, silently closing the door behind me in the face of the wind. Gudrun was curled up in the corner, her head resting on a wad of straw. Two pigeons were bedded in her hair. She’d thrown off her covers again. Her shift was so thin, I knew she must be cold. I crouched down to pull the covers up around her. I noticed her arms were covered in scratches and bruises and there was a big purple bruise across her thigh.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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