And another Sunday rolls around. Blimey where is this year going to?
For those who don’t know – which will be hardly any of you – Six Sentence Sunday is an authorial blog hop that gives one the opportunity to read a little of an awful lot of different works. It’s good fun and I’ve met some super people while doing it. You may find the links here if you want to poke around amongst them.
Here is my offering. Another bit of A Fierce Reaping. Winter is drawing in and Cynfal is worried about Aeddan.
Cynfal scraped together enough firewood to heat the mess through – mostly pinecones and bundles of birch twigs – and fetched water while Aeddan sulked in the bothy. He was definitely off colour and bad tempered with it. Cynfal was reminded of an old hound with an abcess brewing. There was no outward sign and much of the time he carried on as normal, but he was sometimes more abrupt and could snap if touched on the wrong spot. At the moment Aeddan didn’t suffer fools gladly, and that was odd. He normally liked having someone to make fun of.