...Three boys came running and nearly knocked into [Nicholas]. One, a sturdy red-haired lad with a broad face and an uncanny number of freckles across it paused and looked at him for a moment before continuing to streak away.
When he turned to see where the boys had been running from he saw a pathetic sight. He had found Henry Shawley, and the boy was scrabbling in the snow for something as tears poured down his reddened cheeks.
“Might I be of some help?”
Henry lifted his face. There was a bruise already starting near his left eye. “He hit me, sir. And they broke my pencils—the last ones I had.” His voice cracked and he wiped at his face, wincing as his hand brushed over the spreading bruise.
Poor Henry. This is the kind of thing his mother was afraid could happen. But unlike Mary, Nicholas is in a position to do something about it. He'll have to wait to run into those boys again, but there will be a reckoning of sorts.
Nothing extra this week except this picture of Nicholas.
Yes, part of his head is missing, but he'll be losing his head over Mary anyway, so it's fine. See you around the blogosphere, and thanks for visiting!