Chapter 13: Ink and Twine

They read the letters on a Sunday, the one day harvest allowed them anything close to rest, sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of coffee going cold between them and Biscuit asleep under the table across both their feet like he'd claimed them as a single unit rather than two people. The twine came apart easier than Wren expected, the fibers so brittle they nearly crumbled at her touch. Ins...