Better late than never, I guess?
Here's my snippet for this week, carrying on directly from the last one I posted here. Bethan is observing Alwyn crossing the yard towards the house.
Her adored big brother, dark and quick, had turned heads, but now he could barely catch anyone's eye, even those who loved him. She studied him, his mouth drawn awry by the scars that seamed the right side of his face, his once smooth skin like old oak bark, the stub of an ear. He was too far away for her to see the drooping lid that covered the clouded remains of the eye that had once been so bright. She suppressed a shiver and got up to fetch his plate.
Alwyn ate quickly, just nodding as Nye complained about the new man at the chapel and how he was playing ducks and drakes with the Sunday services, and again when Nye commented on the high prices for fodder.
“They say it’s all going to France to feed the draft beasts - better prices from the War Office than from honest farmers - and how are we supposed to work our acreage when they’ve taken the best horses and called up most of the men?"
More next week. xx