Chapter 7

“Here,” he said, passing out a big bowl of porridge and honey that he’d had keeping warm on the stove. “Get that inside you and you’ll feel better. I think might have some really ancient mince in the freezer that Anghared can have. I’ll dig it out and defrost it in a minute.”

Mal nodded and curled himself into his previous chair by the fire again, legs tucked underneath him this time, less stiff. He spooned porridge into himself like a man possessed. Marc was worried he was going to eat the bowl. “Do you want some more?” he asked.

Mal looked at him. “Thank you, no, that was lovely though. I was really hungry.”

“You covered it up well,” Marc said, grinning as he took the bowl back and turned toward the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about in there,” Mal said in a quiet voice from behind him. “But. Why areyou helping me?”

Marc stopped, hand on the door surround.

“You didn’t have to, you know. You could have told me to sling my hook. Or called the police or something.”