“Their spirits were lifted. For them, today had been a good day. They’d managed to intercept a merchant’s wagon destined to deliver to some baron a cart full of luxuries. The foreign wine they’d found was being consumed now. And their songs around the fire were gradually becoming less tuneful and more raucous. They are like children. He watched them from the darkness of his hut, his army of peasant bandits. So used to the grinding poverty of recent years, the starvation, grubbing for scraps of f...ood. That here, in the forests of Nottingham, where they could poach royal deer and hares because the soldiers daren’t follow them in, they were like excitable children. It reminded him, James Locke, too much of the place, of the time, he’d come from. A world of poverty, overcrowded and crumbling cities … polluted oceans populated by nothing but floating islands of plastic rubbish and slowly dispersing toxins. A dying world … a dying world. He looked down at the wooden box in his hands, old weathered wood with an ornate pattern carved into its sides.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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