The quiet of the wrecked carriage was entirely unbearable. Delaney knelt in the wet dirt, holding Rowan's head in her lap. Her tears fell freely, dropping onto his pale, still face. She smoothed his blond hair, her hands shaking so violently she could barely feel her own fingers.
Then, through the thick, cold air, she heard a sound.
It was faint at first. It was the slow, rhythmic creak, creak, creak of wooden wheels and the heavy plodding of hooves on the dirt road high above them.
Delaney stopped crying. She held her breath and listened.
She looked up through the broken, splintered window frame of the carriage. Through the bare, dripping branches of the trees, she saw a shape moving slowly along the top of the steep ridge. It was a farmer's wooden wagon, drawn by two sturdy workhorses. It was entirely empty, returning from a delivery in the village.
It was their only chance.
