Thomas blinked his eyes open. Odda. He winced. The wound of the boy’s absence still throbbed, but the relentless, overpowering sense of loss had eased. The sleep had helped.
He pushed himself up, taking stock. A rooster crowed, the cry loud, and in the distance a horse squealed, answered by another.
He must have slept through the night. He got up, fighting dizziness, and pushed past the curtain that divided the sleeping area from the rest of Torht’s house.
Nectan, Domech, and Nona sat at the table, eating hot porridge. Hilda had her hand on the latch of the door, the other arm cradling a large bowl of porridge. She turned back at the sound of his entrance. Seeing him, she grimaced and slipped outside, shutting the door behind her.
“Thomas!” Nona rose and hurried over to him. “Are y
