The smell of well roasted pig drifted out from the master's house. The week was over and tomorrow only the apprentice smiths would use the forge, their master sleeping off a belly full of beer and fat. A bundle of sticks and a small pile of burnt stones were dropped inside the doorway as the orphan boy sat down. He'd woken up far too early but there wasn't a single excuse that'd save the boy from letting the fires go out before dawn. That was what the sticks were for: to keep Connor occupied.
