A Tortured SoulChapter 14 The Question
I slept well. Very well. With no dreams of green cliff-top pastures and cryptic conversations to disturb me. It felt good. I wasn’t quite so keen on the whole waking up alone thing, mind you. I’d kind of gotten used to the heat a sleeping woman generates, not to mention the early morning encores. But this particular Sunday I was able to shower, dress and have breakfast over in the canteen all before most of the rest of the boys on Wintersmith’s ground floor had even woken up. By nine I was...