The boy had hammered his tiny legs along an iron fretwork bridge leapfrogging the road below, the creaking and clattering making him move faster, worrying that the noise might give away his location. His throat was dry and he felt hot and constricted inside the tight fitting leather tunic. It must be summer. The voice in the back of his head said. You’ve got to find her. It told him, as he descended the other side of the bridge. He ran until the blood in his ears was deafening and he could no longer hear the breath leaving his body.