With many eyes still watching in the Slave Camp, Kane couldn't risk exposure. After hearing the details of the trial, he suppressed the storm raging in his heart, quickly dismissed all the Believers, and left only Little John to care for the resting Anvil.
Silence temporarily returned to the shack.
Little John gazed at the still-hideous scars on Anvil's body, his young face etched with self-reproach.
"Mister, it's all my fault. If it weren't for me..."
Anvil extended a broad, calloused hand and gently patted the little boy's head. He managed a smile and said in a rumbling voice, "What nonsense. You're my lucky star, kid. If you hadn't been here, I might have just... passed on in my sleep."
"Besides, we're the ones who sent you out. There's no need to blame yourself."
He paused, his voice softening.
"You should go back now. I'm a little tired and want to rest by myself for a bit."
"But your wounds..."
