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All the strength and will that Léof had been drawing from to fight Thornden suddenly died as the last of the stable collapsed in flame and Thornden released him. He felt weak, powerless, numb.
He had failed.
He had not gotten all the horses out; Herefola had been left. He had tried – how he had tried! And if it wasn’t for Thornden - ! A word of reproach rose to his lips and died – he felt too tired and sick, both emotionally and physically, to raise an argument. He could only watch dumbly as the flames consumed the remnants of the stables. Soon there would be nothing left.
Nothing left. So where did that leave him? An ostler without a stable! Now there was a jest, and a sick one at that. More than his work – all of his possessions had been kept in that small room. Not that he had many; clothing could be replaced, and the coins making up his small savings had probably survived the fire if he cared to look through the ashes. The thought nauseated him. Even so, there had been a few small keepsakes that he would miss, and Æthel’s saddle and bridle would have to be replaced… that might be more expensive than he could afford…
His thoughts drifted off into vagueness. How could this have happened? So quickly – all of it gone. So quickly, gone.
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