Chapter Nineteen
Just after ten, they waved goodbye to Sister Rose on almost friendly terms. Wren’s swelling had subsided, and Rose had applied a fresh dressing. Better still, she’d once been a member of the Territorial Army.
‘Surprise surprise.’ Muttered Rhyllann. She outfitted them both in camouflage gear, combat trousers, matching blouse jackets, and khaki t-shirts. In a fit of generosity, she pressed a couple of russet skinned apples into their hands. They looked like ordinary run of the mill hikers. Apart from the faint smell of paraffin that hung about them.
After taking a short cut over a couple of sloping fields they were back on the moors again, the sun had yet to burn through the morning mist, but the air felt just as pleasant and invigorating as the day before. In answer to Rhyllann's anxious questioning every twenty minutes or so Wren finally snapped: ‘Stop fussing. It’s okay. I just took liberties with it yesterday.’
Even so, Rhyllann insisted they took it slowly, calling frequent halts until Wren declared he’d had enough of “faffing around” and marched forward with only the occasional lurch.
‘Look – if it starts to hurt – then I’ll stop. Okay?’
Rhyllann saluted his courage. He told Wren so.
‘I’m not letting you down, and I can’t let my mum down. And I’m doing this for me too. I’m done with being a loser. Me and you, we’re winners.’
Rhyllann wanted to laugh, but Wren’s determined face forbade him. Slapping Wren's shoulder, Rhyllann fell into step, musing on how his cousin seemed to have matured over the past forty-eight hours.