Monday: He closed his eyes and sank for one moment into the memory of how honey-sweet Marguerite’s lips had tasted at the fair. He was glad he had been allowed to kiss her one last time.
Tuesday: Kit swore and snarled and cursed as Robert wrenched at his wrist, smashed his hand against the floor again, wrenched and smashed and wrenched until Robert saw the betraying shift of the blade in Kit’s benumbed fingers.
Wednesday: Robert hoped Kit would awaken to as abominable a headache as Robert had when Kit had hit him in the woods with the rock.
Thursday: It was his only physical tie to his father, a tangible memory of his father’s love for his mother that had embraced Robert, too, and held him warm and secure as a boy in a world so bitterly uncertain and cold. What if when Robert let it go, the memory of his father’s face and voice and smile and love went with it?
Friday: The strap bounced down Richard’s arm, the case swaying wildly into the path of a descending sword thrust before Richard pivoted out of the way and cast the case off with a force that sent it and its precious contents banging against one of the walls.