She hurried over and lowered herself down on the bedside, her weight causing him to slide towards her. He felt her hands on his face, inspecting him lovingly with her thumbs.

“You gave us such a fright,” she said, her voice breaking, and he pulled himself into her.

She released him reluctantly, a set task pulling her away.

“Master Loamtoes,” she said, rising from the bed.

Pocket looked past her and saw a gnome, slumped in a chair, fast asleep.

“Master Loamtoes,” Moragh repeated again, hovering over the chair. “He’s awake.”

The gnome’s eyes opened, and he looked at Moragh for a moment, frowning, then her words registered and he jumped to his feet. He came over and looked Pocket over, gave a grunt of approval and something near to a smile almost made it across his cheeks.

“Broth,” he told Moragh a little gruffly. “And water.”

Moragh continued to smile despite the gnome’s manner and returned to the hearth. The gnome gave Pocket’s eyes a final inspection, then withdrew. Pocket heard the door to the cottage open, the sound of gulls slipping through before it closed again. He felt suddenly tired and scooped Napper, displaced after Moragh’s embrace, back into his lap before falling back onto the pillows.

His eyes closed, and he slipped back into black throbs of pain. When he opened his eyes again he found Sir Corc looking down at him.

“You’re alive,” Pocket said, his voice weaker than he expected.

“Yes,” the knight said. “I have you to thank for that.”

“And…the others?” it was becoming difficult to speak.

“Can you not hear it?” Sir Corc asked gently.

Pocket listened, and somewhere outside he made out the distinct sound of wood striking something over and over.

Pocket smiled. “Flyn.”

“Damn racket!” the gnome complained, coming to the bedside and handing Pocket a bowl of steaming liquid. “Drink this down. All of it now!”

Pocket did as he was told.

His eyes were feeling heavy by the time the bowl was half empty, and the pain was lessening.

“I thought I was dead,” he said.

“So did we,” Sir Corc replied, laying his hand gently on Pocket’s shoulder. “And many still do. It is better that way. Sleep now. Rest.”

Pocket did not think he could do anything else. His lids dropped, and he fought them open one last time.

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?” he asked, his own voice sounding distant.

He felt Sir Corc squeeze his shoulder and heard him say, “I swear it.”

A CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS