The Breaking — Chapter 21

The sound of an axe bangs through the yard on a cool, grey morning. Above me, the clouds are a carpet of dappled wool, and I frown as I study them, tasting rain and salt. I check my satchel—an old barley sack tied to a leather strap—and sling it over my shoulder, then walk around the barn to the woodshed, my footsteps competing with the axe's rhythmic thock.