As the afternoon grew long, Thomas found himself where he had begun the day, walking once more along Lindisfarne’s beach. The day’s events had done nothing to ease the fears that crashed through him like the waves upon the shore as high tide approached. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and blinked through the streaming rain, trying to pray. An ominous sense of impending doom ticked closer with every second, disrupting his concentration, and he soon gave up his attempt at prayer.
The slight buzz of Fey power in the rain had ceased. But that hadn’t stopped the rain. Nature had taken over, and there were no signs of it relenting. It was going to make for a difficult journey for those on the way to Yeavering for the king’s witenagemot. Thomas prayed it would also slow Wulfram’s pawns. Alt
