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Authors: A. J. Lake
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or cry: he seemed not to understand.
The trees at the stream’s edge were burned stubs as far as they could see. As they made their way along the channel again, every fallen trunk in the distance filled Edmund with dread – but they made no more sickening discoveries.
The mud in the stream-bed became sluggish liquid, then a trickle of water. The endless ash beneath their feet began to mix itself with brown earth . . . and then Cluaran stopped with an audible breath of relief, and Edmund followed his gaze upwards to see undamaged branches, already in bud, at the top of a blackened trunk. At the same moment, he heard the distant noise of water flowing over stone.
He found himself almost running as they followed the sound. And then it was ahead of them: a real river, not wide but deep; the trees on the far bank untouched by the fire.
It was Eolande who reached the water first. She had been walking at the back, so silently that Edmund had forgotten her, but at the sight of the river she gave a cry – the first sound they had heard from her in days – and rushed to kneel at the bank. She dipped her hands in the water and threw a shower of gleaming drops over her head and face. Edmund saw now that she was covered with a white film of ash – all of them were. Cluaran put a dusty hand on his mother’s shoulder.
‘Let’s follow it till we’re clear of this damnable ash; then we can all wash.’ The river-water made trails like tears down Eolande’s cheeks, but she looked up at him almost with a smile.
Edmund walked with Elspeth and Wulf along the river, under trees still in bud. Everyone’s spirits had lifted with the return of life around them.
They reached a bend where the river widened with a shallow beach on the outside bank, and gratefully stopped to wash. Wulf showed an unexpected modesty, wriggling away and blushing when Elspeth tried to help him take off his overshirt.
‘You’re a girl!’ he protested.
In the end, Elspeth and Eolande moved a little upriver to wash, and Edmund stayed with Wulf, along with Cluaran and Cathbar. The boy undressed readily enough once Elspeth had gone, but he wanted no help, and still seemed to avoid the others’ gaze. Glancing at him as they knelt at the water’s edge, Edmund was shocked to see a livid slash across the boy’s chest – a recently healed scar, dark red against his pale skin.
‘How did you do that?’ he blurted out. The boy ducked his head and covered his chest with his thin arms, and Edmund fell silent, rather abashed at having pried. But he could not help looking at Wulf with a new curiosity. Tough and self-possessed as he seemed to be, the child had clearly not had an easy life. Had an animal gored him?
They scrubbed the ash from their hair and skin, shivering in the cold, and jumped up and down on the bank to warmthemselves, banging their dusty clothes on tree trunks before putting them back on. With the grime removed, the boy looked less of a waif: still painfully thin, but strong and wiry, with a pale, freckled face and sharp blue eyes. His hair was drying out to a light red-gold, though it was still wild, and his clothes were beggarly. The rags around Wulf’s feet had been holding together the remains of shoes so thin that the leather was ripped under both soles. His overshirt, though wool, was so coarsely woven that the wind could blow through it: Edmund draped his own fur cloak over the boy’s shoulders, ashamed that he had not thought to do it before. Even the necklet that the boy so treasured was a cheap thing, made of iron, probably, and so short that it was more like a collar. But when Edmund touched the chain as he was fastening his cloak about Wulf’s neck, the boy squirmed away.
Wulf came back to let Edmund finish fixing the cloak; his pleasure in the well-made garment was obvious. When Elspeth and Eolande rejoined them, he was showing it off to Cathbar, lifting his feet carefully to keep its hem clear of the ground.
Elspeth looked at
The trees at the stream’s edge were burned stubs as far as they could see. As they made their way along the channel again, every fallen trunk in the distance filled Edmund with dread – but they made no more sickening discoveries.
The mud in the stream-bed became sluggish liquid, then a trickle of water. The endless ash beneath their feet began to mix itself with brown earth . . . and then Cluaran stopped with an audible breath of relief, and Edmund followed his gaze upwards to see undamaged branches, already in bud, at the top of a blackened trunk. At the same moment, he heard the distant noise of water flowing over stone.
He found himself almost running as they followed the sound. And then it was ahead of them: a real river, not wide but deep; the trees on the far bank untouched by the fire.
It was Eolande who reached the water first. She had been walking at the back, so silently that Edmund had forgotten her, but at the sight of the river she gave a cry – the first sound they had heard from her in days – and rushed to kneel at the bank. She dipped her hands in the water and threw a shower of gleaming drops over her head and face. Edmund saw now that she was covered with a white film of ash – all of them were. Cluaran put a dusty hand on his mother’s shoulder.
‘Let’s follow it till we’re clear of this damnable ash; then we can all wash.’ The river-water made trails like tears down Eolande’s cheeks, but she looked up at him almost with a smile.
Edmund walked with Elspeth and Wulf along the river, under trees still in bud. Everyone’s spirits had lifted with the return of life around them.
They reached a bend where the river widened with a shallow beach on the outside bank, and gratefully stopped to wash. Wulf showed an unexpected modesty, wriggling away and blushing when Elspeth tried to help him take off his overshirt.
‘You’re a girl!’ he protested.
In the end, Elspeth and Eolande moved a little upriver to wash, and Edmund stayed with Wulf, along with Cluaran and Cathbar. The boy undressed readily enough once Elspeth had gone, but he wanted no help, and still seemed to avoid the others’ gaze. Glancing at him as they knelt at the water’s edge, Edmund was shocked to see a livid slash across the boy’s chest – a recently healed scar, dark red against his pale skin.
‘How did you do that?’ he blurted out. The boy ducked his head and covered his chest with his thin arms, and Edmund fell silent, rather abashed at having pried. But he could not help looking at Wulf with a new curiosity. Tough and self-possessed as he seemed to be, the child had clearly not had an easy life. Had an animal gored him?
They scrubbed the ash from their hair and skin, shivering in the cold, and jumped up and down on the bank to warmthemselves, banging their dusty clothes on tree trunks before putting them back on. With the grime removed, the boy looked less of a waif: still painfully thin, but strong and wiry, with a pale, freckled face and sharp blue eyes. His hair was drying out to a light red-gold, though it was still wild, and his clothes were beggarly. The rags around Wulf’s feet had been holding together the remains of shoes so thin that the leather was ripped under both soles. His overshirt, though wool, was so coarsely woven that the wind could blow through it: Edmund draped his own fur cloak over the boy’s shoulders, ashamed that he had not thought to do it before. Even the necklet that the boy so treasured was a cheap thing, made of iron, probably, and so short that it was more like a collar. But when Edmund touched the chain as he was fastening his cloak about Wulf’s neck, the boy squirmed away.
Wulf came back to let Edmund finish fixing the cloak; his pleasure in the well-made garment was obvious. When Elspeth and Eolande rejoined them, he was showing it off to Cathbar, lifting his feet carefully to keep its hem clear of the ground.
Elspeth looked at
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