There was no sign of him

Lucy pulled her cloak tighter, running along the dark lanes, past cottages where gaps in the drawn curtains glowed warmly with yellow candlelight. Wood smoke scented the air, overlaying hints of roasting meats and bubbling stews. The familiar homeliness gave her no comfort.

She had beaten on the doors of every child in the village who poked fun at her son. Irate mothers and fathers had glared when Lucy demanded their children tell her where Connor might be. At last, one young boy confessed.

...