Chapter Fifty-Five: Havenhill
Kaida
I had never actually been to Havenhill. I had only heard snippets of gossip about a human stronghold, and had let my imagination fill in the rest.
I had pictured a clean little town with cobbled streets and whitewashed walls and window boxes full of late summer flowers. The residents were kind humans who minded their own business and asked no questions and let two women with thirty eight coins and a carpet bag start over quietly. That was the Havenhill in my head, the one I had held onto through cold camps and bear attacks and soggy river crossings and thirteen days of everything that had complicated the plan beyond recognition.
The real Havenhill appeared through the trees in the grey morning light and was none of those things.
It was small. Smalle
