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Chapter Eight Hundred And Thirteen – 813
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... as often afflicted by southern rains, enough that the streets often ran like rivers in the wettest of months. As for the other—her father was a butcher, and she was a helpful girl.
“Come, dear one,” her father urged. “Only a little farther.”
Her arms were tired and her legs ached, but she plodded along behind his larger boots. A rucksack hung heavy from a single thin shoulder, filled to the brim with food and a few pieces of spare clothing. The burlap dug into her skin with every ...
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