Ambrose sat all huddled up in an empty horse stall. The barn was abandoned so it wasn’t likely anyone was going to put a horse in Ambrose’s hiding place any time soon.
He shivered and rubbed his arms.
There were too many close calls tonight. Too many dances with death.
Ambrose leaned his head back against the rough wood wall. He closed his eyes and took in the myriad scents.
He shivered again.
I wish I were somewhere warm.
He pressed his forehead against his knees.
It’s Christmas Day.
I wish I were home.
He remembered the light fading from his father’s eyes.
The taste of his blood.
All of the servants slashed and fallen. Their blood on his face.
On his clothes.
Staining his claws.
He shuddered. “I have no one.”
I am alone.
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