“A curse upon them, Father,” Jacob said. He began the long march back to the broken wagon, mud and rain only increased his disillusion, disgust and utter disappointment. His arms and legs were on fire with fatigue, Adrina was a lead weight in his arms that he would not drop.
Jacob staggered and stumbled. He sank to his knees several times, only to return to an uneasy stagger moments afterward. Mud covered his cloak, his arms and even his face.
He began to chuckle to himself as an increased downpour ironically washed the muck away. A few more steps, he promised himself, not realizing he didn’t know what he would do when he did reach the wagon. Faith, whispered a tiny voice in his mind, faith everlasting…
“F-a-ther!” crackled a distant voice, softly intermixed with the sound of the storm.
At first Jacob thought it was the voice of his conscience speaking to him again, but then the call repeated. He stumbled and turned back toward the huts. As he did this he fell to his knees and, still clutching the princess tightly, he looked up to see an ancient man with a long, white beard standing in an open doorway.
“Quickly, now!” the man hissed.
Finding renewed vigor, Jacob did as the old man bade. Rain beating down upon him washed away the mud from his most recent fall by the time he reached the doorway.