Freda Pov
The small tallow candle burned down until the hot wax ran over the rim of the tin lid and touched the oak table rail. I did not blow it out because the kitchen corners were completely dark and the frost was growing thick over the window panes.
Urdon sat right on the cedar bench with his good left hand resting on his knee trousers while his right shoulder remained perfectly still inside the white linen sling.
"If Silas signs the parchment for Caleb tomorrow, we walk toward the western ridge."
Urdon turned his face toward the dark stove box, his lower jaw moving slowly as he swallowed a breath. "The western ridge has no well frames, Freda. The water is sour under the pine roots."
"We can dig a new hole with the iron shovels."
"The fourteen wolves won't have the legs to carry the iron tools across the rocks."
