Well of Sorrows Read Free Page B

years back—were beholden to the Proprietor’s Family, to the Court, an extension of Andover.
    And over the past few months, they’d made it clear that those fleeing the Feud in Andover who were not part of the Carrente Family weren’t wanted.
    Colin turned his back on the town in disgust and faced east, out across the plains, at the smooth folds in the land covered in grass, dotted here and there with copses of trees or broken chunks of stone like the one in the middle of Lean-to. He struck off farther north, toward where one of those stones cut through the earth in a flat shelf, and sat down, legs crossed beneath him.
    He’d found this place within the first week of arriving in Portstown, when the excitement over the new town and the new land had still been fresh, when he’d been trying to forget the death and disease that had plagued the three ships during the trip across the Arduon. He’d come to this rock and simply stared out over the grass that seemed to stretch forever, rustling in the wind, rippling in various shades of green and gold and yellow, dotted with the shadows of scattered clouds.
    Now, he leaned back on his arms, stared up into the blue sky, watched the dark circling of a hawk high above, and slowly the tension in his shoulders ebbed. The sun beat down with soothing warmth, and heat radiated up from the rough granite beneath his palms. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, smelled the grass, the earth, the stone, listened to the shriek of the hawk above, faint with distance, to the wind as it rustled in the stalks surrounding him. The shame over pissing his breeches drained away, along with the anger at his father and his hatred of Walter and Portstown and the Carrente. All of it faded, even the throbbing of the bruises in his arms and on his chest.
    Relaxed, he opened his eyes and gazed into the distance, to where the rumpled land met the sky.
    The openness of that world called to him. If he breathed slowly enough, if he grew still enough, he could almost hear it.

     
    His father returned to the hut after dark.
    Colin sat before the fire. His mother sat on one of the sleeping pallets, Colin’s torn shirt in her lap, her needle and thread flashing in the light as she mended it. A pile of assorted clothes sat next to her: shirts and breeches and linens from a few of the other members of Lean-to that also needed repair.
    His parents looked at each other a moment after his father ducked through the entrance, his mother pausing in her work. Then Tom’s gaze fell on Colin.
    He moved toward the fire, reached forward to ruffle Colin’s hair, but Colin ducked his head and shifted out of the way.
    “Colin, come here.”
    When Colin didn’t move, his father squatted down next to him by the fire with a grunt and held out his hand. “I have something for you.”
    He still hadn’t forgiven his father, but he couldn’t help himself. He looked, then frowned.
    Tom held what appeared to be a wadded up ball of string.
    “What is it?”
    His father grinned. “Take it.”
    As Colin pulled it from his father’s hand, Tom settled down beside him. Unraveling the loose ends of the straps, Colin realized it wasn’t string, but leather. In its center, a wide rectangular piece was wrapped around a knotted ball. The straps were tied to the rectangular piece through slits. One of the straps had ties on the end; the other ended in the knotted ball.
    “It’s a sling,” his father explained after making himself comfortable. “I made it this afternoon.”
    “You made him a sling?” his mother asked sharply. “What for?”
    “So he can protect himself,” his father growled. Then he drew in a shuddering breath and said more calmly, “So he can defend himself from Walter and his gang.”
    His mother’s silence spoke volumes.
    “Ana, he needs something he can use to protect himself from those bastards. He needs to be able to fight back.”
    “He shouldn’t need to fight back at all.”
    “No, he