VIIFinn's breathing was ragged, the stitch in his side sharp, by the time he reached home. He'd never really recovered from his ordeals in Engn. It didn't take much to wear him out, and some days he had no energy at all. Diane always assured him it would take time, that he'd get over it. It had been three years now.
He took a moment to let his heaving chest calm a little. He didn't want Diane or Whelm to see him like that. When he was ready, he pushed open the little wooden gate to their garden and made his way towards the workshop, threading between the vegetable beds. This time of year, with nearly everything harvested, they were little more than oblong mounds of bare earth.
“Finn.”
Diane stood on their doorstep of their cottage. For some reason she was still in her stained work cloth
