Maeve
The village was buzzing with activity as I followed Mom into the center of the rows of cottages and buildings housing the shops and market. Gretchen had bundled her up in a thick, heavy red wool coat and a matching hat, the color a stark contrast to the snow and white-washed buildings. Mom was barking orders to the warriors who had surrounded a group of a dozen or so weary-looking people, strangers.
“Who are they? How did they get here?” I turned to Gemma, who shrugged, her face lined with suspicion.
She had heard the commotion from her house and came to fetch us, but the warriors had beaten her there, and we were already in the driveway when Gemma arrived. She had given George to Gretchen and then followed us down to the village, where the warrior had gathered the unfamiliar gro
