Walking down School Lane to the forge, I fought the urge to limp, although no one was watching.

It had been a long afternoon. The class was restless and the older ones who would soon be leaving had tried my patience. I’d been there before. It happened every year; I could deal with it. But now I was tired.

The tarlings must have noticed I was flagging. Two of them helped tidy up without me asking, and closed the window shutters while I locked away the knife I’d used to ...