A Promise of Return by Rebecca Crunden

Author:Rebecca Crunden
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

Promise

It was cold in the forest, the last touches of winter clinging to the mountain range, the water in the stream icy and biting. Thom fastened his coat, glad that he had it, and followed the direction of the stream. Wherever the stream ended, it was at least making its way down the mountain, and it was as good a direction as any to follow. The blood loss from the gunshot wound left him weak and shaking, but stopping would be death.

He spent most of the day winding his way through the forest, climbing down the side of rocky waterfalls, sidestepping sharp drops, jumping over pits and down banks, and climbing up the sides of steep inclines. More than once he was forced to shimmy up a tree to make his way across a particularly unappealing area. His shoulder ached continuously and by the following morning, his left arm was too sore to move.

By late afternoon on the second day, he came around a bend and saw, far below, several farms dotting a flypath with great white arrows directing hovers towards the centre of town. Too exhausted to be relieved, he merely heaved a sigh and pressed on.

It took most of the evening to reach the farms. A cold rain set in, chilling him to the bone. He was burning with fever and had developed a cough.

With the last of his strength, he climbed the fence of a sheep pasture and struggled across the field until he reached the barn. The bleating of the sheep was calming as he moved through the fluffy white bodies to the back of a stall that was well hidden from view. He dropped onto the ground beside two sleeping lambs; one looked up blearily to see who the strange intruder was.

Thom patted its neck and rested his head back against the wall.

He dreamed of Nate. They were standing on the field, the sun bright and the grass a shimmering green. Everything was sharp and richly coloured. Nate’s hair was as red as the earth of the arena, and his freckles stood against his pale skin. His eyes were strangely reddish too, amber with very little pupil.

He looked at Thom and opened his mouth –

Thom was jerked awake as a cold splash of water tore him from sleep.

‘What in the name of God d’you think you’re doing sleeping in my barn?’ The roar of the farmer frightened the sheep and Thom scrambled to his feet to avoid being trampled. The farmer looked at him, taking in Thom’s attire with wide eyes. ‘You’re one of those fighters, aren’t you?’

Thom held up his hands. ‘Please. Please, I’m leaving. Just don’t say anything.’

‘You think I want that sort coming anywhere near me? Get!’

Thom moved as quickly as he could through the sheep, out of the barn and straight for the road. His head throbbed and his entire body felt so cold it was as if it belonged to the snowy mountains, not a human man.

The sun was

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