The wagon creaked, and moments later the hay was hastily piled aside. The tarpaulin was withdrawn, and they could see Nyton’s concerned face, his son carefully helping to keep the straw away from them.
Sweet, fresh air swirled over them, and they both drew in great gulps of it, feeling like they would never get enough. The stale heat beneath the protective layers had worn upon them both, leaching their energy.
Nyton knelt near their feet, worried eyes fixed upon Nikolaus. “Are you injured, my lord? My heart near stopped when he speared the hay, but we did not dare stop sooner, lest they had followed and were watching.”
Nikolaus managed a small smile for the farmer. “Just a small nick on me, nothing serious. You got us through them, which I am eternally grateful for. You did well.”
Nyto
