IIIIFinn started awake with a gasp. Metal fingers scrabbled at his bedroom window. He expected to see the mask of an ironclad peering in at him, but there was no one. How could there be when he slept upstairs?
Another tap on the window. Someone was throwing stones to wake him up. There was light outside, but he couldn't hear any of the familiar sounds from down inside the house: the silvery fanfare of the kettle being filled at the tap, the clatter of pans on the stove. Outside, birds were starting to chatter questioningly, but the sun wasn't yet up over the mountain-tops.
Finn clambered over his bed and pushed open his window. Cool, damp air breathed in at him. Connor stood among the cabbages, another pebble ready in his hand.
“Finn! Come on!” He spoke in a whispered shout that sounded
