It was warm enough, but he couldn’t shake the chill in his chest, ever-present as a shard of ice stuck through his heart. They had walked all day until their feet had been worn raw, across a landscape still smouldering with wreckage. They avoided London, skirting its edge for fear of remnant splinter groups of James’s army or hostile refugees hiding out in the dense city sprawl; but they had been close, so very close, that the tower had been visible from across the Thames, lighting up all of Canary Wharf, one beacon ablaze in the dark. Would it still shine when the sun fell tomorrow? They had almost stopped too late, the sun having grown so low that they had barely discerned the barn by its silhouette. All the while, the cold had run rampant through him, and he wondered whether it would ever fade. “Billy,” he muttered. Silence, a few snores from Richard’s direction, somewhere out of sight.
What do You think about Fray (The Ruin Saga Book 3)?
