Chapter Text
His father’s body had laid in the morgue for an entire week before Will thought to look for him there, and only after someone had suggested it as a joke.
“Try the mortuary!” One of the fishermen told him, grunting as he hauled his day’s catch onto the dock. Will had already asked around the docks three days prior and no one had seen him then, either, but he was running out of places to look. “Last time I saw John, the man was so drunk he couldn’t even walk straight - wouldn’t surprise me one bit if his poor liver finally gave out on him!”
He had laughed loudly at that, and Will offered a tight smile in return before turning back around and marching over to the coroner’s office, his stomach twisting itself in knots the entire way.
The coroner was silent as he listened to Will’s plight, frowning at the smudges on his cheeks and the holes in his little shoes.
“Son,” He said when he finally finished speaking. “Where’s your mammy?”
Will hesitated.
“She’s at work.” He lied, and the coroner sighed, heaving himself to his feet.
“Yeah, we’ve got someone matching that description.” He said, leading Will over to a flight of stairs. “Came in a few days ago - we figured he was just some bum.”
Will followed mutely after him, too terrified to speak.
It wasn’t unusual for his daddy to disappear on him without warning, often for days at a time, but he had never been gone for this long, and he always made sure to leave a note for Will explaining where he was and when he would be back.
The fact that he hadn’t this time….
Will shivered, hugging himself for warmth as they continued down the stairs.
The morgue was housed in the deepest corner of the city’s oldest hospital, and the temperature dropped noticeably the further down they went. The walls were cold and wet with slime, the corners dotted with black mold, and the shadows hung thick and heavy overhead, with only old-fashioned, rusted gas lights to chase them away. Awful as it was, Will didn’t think it could possibly get any worse.
It wasn’t until they reached the basement that he noticed the smell.
He gagged, cupping his hands over his mouth and nose.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” The corner grunted, unphased. “This way.”
Will followed him reluctantly through a set of heavy wooden doors at the end of the hall, cracked and bent with age and water damage. The stench of rot was overwhelming now, so strong that it made Will’s eyes water and his stomach heave. He came very close to passing out -
And then he saw the bodies
Will stopped, staring at them.
There were about half a dozen of them, all laid out on operating tables and draped with heavy sheets. Only their feet were visible, and someone had tied paper tags around their toes. Will watched, completely numb, as the coroner moved over to the nearest one, checking the tag as he did.
“Body was found seven days ago.” He explained, dropping the tag before proceeding to the next one. “On that little beach near Grafton. Do you know it?”
Will nodded - it was just a few blocks from where they had been staying.
“We think it was a mugging.” The coroner continued, turning from the second body to the third. “He was stabbed, and his wallet was-ah! Here he is!”
He beckoned for Will to come closer.
“Is this your father?” He asked once Will had dragged himself over to the table, flipping back the sheet.
For a moment, Will couldn’t speak, staring down at the bloated face, the waxy skin, in horror. He almost didn’t recognize him, he was so badly distorted. He nodded, blinking rapidly, his throat too tight to speak.
The coroner sighed, echoing Will’s nod with one of his own. “Well,” He said, mercifully covering the graying corpse back up again, “The good news is, that with a name, the investigation might actually move forward.”
Will felt himself go cold. “Investigation?” He asked, his heart sinking. “What do you mean?”
The coroner gave him a look. “Son, your father was murdered.” He said slowly, as if he thought Will were slow. “Obviously, it needs to be investigated. In fact, the police are probably going to want to talk to you, now that we’ve identified the victim - you’re probably one of the last few people who actually saw him alive. With your help, they might actually be able to figure out what happened. Wait right here, I’m going to call them now-”
Will’s dread quickly turned to panic as he watched the old man leave - the absolute last thing he wanted was to talk to the police. Once they started asking questions, it would only be a matter of time before they realized he was an orphan. And when they did, they’d no doubt take him into custody.
And Will had heard more than enough horror stories of what happened in the city’s orphanages and workhouses to know he didn’t want to end up there.
By the time the coroner returned, he was already gone.
----------
Will’s daddy had only paid for a week’s lodging before he left, and the lady who rented them the room was anything but sympathetic when Will explained to her what happened.
“This isn’t a charity.” She snapped when Will asked if he could have the room for one more night. “If you don’t have the money for a room, then you don’t get a room.”
“Please, my daddy’s dead!” Will begged her, standing on his tiptoes to peek over the top of her desk. “I don’t have anywhere else to go!”
“I don’t see how that’s my issue.”
“I’ll give you two pence for it!” Will offered, undeterred.
“A room costs sixpence for the night.” She grunted back, unimpressed.
“I’ll give you the rest tomorrow!” Will promised her, trying to ignore the rising panic in his veins. “I swear I’m good for it - the dockmaster owes my daddy for his work last week. As soon as I have it, I’ll pay you!”
“Ha! You really expect me to believe that?! Come on, kid, you’re making a scene here. Let’s go, come on-”
In the end, Will managed to convince her to let him get his things, though she only agreed because having him clear it out saved her the trouble of doing it herself. She grumbled and huffed the entire way up, watching Will like a hawk as he threw everything he owned in the old canvas knapsack that had once been his daddy’s.
“That everything?” She asked when Will finally emerged from the room, his arms laden with his daddy’s clothes and struggling under the awkward bulk of the bag. Will nodded, refusing to look at her. “Good. Now, get out - I’ve got a boarding house to run. I don’t have time for you and your problems.”
----------
Will had lived in Orleans long enough to know not to be on the streets after dark, but with only two pence, there wasn’t anywhere he could go - most doss houses charged twice that for one night, and after his exchange with the woman at the boarding house, he wasn’t expecting much sympathy.
But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t sleep outside, not when the temperature fell below freezing most nights and they were still several weeks away from spring. And while he was sure that one of his daddy’s friends would let him spend the night, Will didn’t know where any of them were at this hour - mostly likely the bars, if old habits were anything to go off of, but which ones, of the dozens that were scattered all across Orleans, he could only guess.
With no other options, Will set off, determined to check as many bars as he possibly could and hoping against hope that he’d meet at least one of his father’s friends along the way.
----------
It was hard not to get discouraged, when he had been walking for over an hour and had yet to encounter a single familiar face. His legs ached and his arms trembled under the weight of his daddy’s clothes, and with every passing second, the canvas bag across his back seemed to grow heavier and heavier…
Knowing there was no point in holding on to them, that they were far too old and frayed to sell, Will abandoned his daddy’s clothes in an alley, keeping only his worn, wool coat, cap, and socks. These he put on himself, despite the fact that they were far too big - the socks bunched uncomfortably in his shoes and the coat fell past his knees, but he was much warmer with them than he was without them. He tried not to feel guilty as he stacked his daddy’s boots atop his carefully folded trousers, but he still felt like a traitor for leaving them behind.
—————
Will finally collapsed on the steps of the cathedral, legs shaking uncontrollably beneath him.
He had been walking for hours, long after the sun had set and the temperature had dropped, searching desperately for someone who could help him and finding no one. It was dark and cold, so cold it almost hurt to breathe, and Will lay stiff and panting on the hard, stone steps, gazing at the heavy wooden doors above him. There was soft light spilling out from under the gap, and he could hear chanting on the other side.
Delirious with exhaustion, Will pushed himself to his feet, stumbling over to the door and slipping gracelessly inside.
It wasn’t nearly as full as he was expecting, with only a handful of people scattered among the pews, their hands folded reverently in prayer and their voices echoing loudly off the vaulted ceiling. Will glanced first one way and then the other, basking in the warmth and looking for a place to hide.
There was the foot of a staircase nearby, along with a sign that read, in no unmistakable terms, ‘Do Not Enter’. Will ignored it, stealing quickly up the stairs to the second floor, where an enormous pipe organ sat silently beside a couple empty benches. He peered over the balcony at the people below, wondering how much longer the service would last and if anyone would think to check the loft before locking up for the night.
‘ No ,’ he decided, curling up under one of the pews, his head pillowed on his rucksack. ‘ No, the sign said not to enter. They won’t look for anyone up here. ’
—————
Will woke to a bright light in his face. He squinted, trying to see through the glare, and saw a wizened, skeletal face peering down at him through the gloom, with nothing but dark shadows in the hollows of its eyes…
“GYAH!” Will yelled, scrambling frantically back and banging his head against the hard wood of the pew. He crumpled to the floor with a groan, stars erupting over his vision.
“Oh my!” The old man cried, setting his lantern aside and reaching for him. “Oh, you poor boy! Are you alright?”
Will shrank back, eyeing him suspiciously.
He was very old and frail, and dressed in the sweeping robes of a priest. A slight tremor ran through his frame, and he squinted rheumy eyes at Will, trying to see him better in the dim light.
“Are you alright?” He asked again, and though he was frowning, he seemed more concerned than angry. “What are you doing up here?”
Will stared at him, too terrified to speak. The old man’s frown deepened, and he glanced around the empty pews.
“Are you by yourself? Where are your parents?”
Will’s eyes filled with tears at those words, remembering his daddy’s face in the morgue, and a small, pained sound escaped his trembling lips.
“...Ah,” The priest said, his expression softening. “I see.” He paused for a moment, studying Will closely, and then pulled his chasuble up over his head. “Here.” He said, draping it over Will like a blanket. “Take this - it’s going to get cold tonight.”
Will blinked, surprised, and watched as the old man hauled himself slowly to his feet.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” He said kindly, lifting his lantern by the handle and holding it aloft, “I promise - no one will bother you again for the rest of the night.” He smiled slightly, and then shuffled over to the stairs. “May God keep you.” He said as he began to pick his way cautiously down. “And remember: the Church is always there for those in need.”
Will waited until the soft glow of his light had vanished before settling back against his knapsack once again. He had learned long ago that kindness wasn’t something to be trusted, and for a long time, Will lay stiff beneath the chasuble, convinced the priest was lurking somewhere in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to snatch him…
He fell into an uneasy, fitful sleep eventually, jerking awake at every creak and groan of the old church settling, and plagued by nightmares each time he closed his eyes.
When the old priest returned in the morning, Will was already gone. The folded chasuble on the bench was the only proof that he had ever been there at all.
—————
Work on the water started early - every day before the sunrise, scores of fishermen, dockhands, and shipwrights would stumble out of the darkness toward the shore, grumbling the entire way. The work was hard, the hours long, and the pay inadequate. Even factory jobs, with their flesh-eating chemicals, severed limbs, and tendencies to burn, were preferable to dock work. Often, the only thing that kept men coming back each day was the simple fact that it was the only thing they knew.
One such soul was Will - his entire life, as far back as he could remember, had been on or near the water, following his daddy up and down the shore mending ships. Though he wasn’t sure where he’d been born, Will wouldn’t be surprised at all if his first breath had been taken on a boat, or if his cradle had been woven from the old rigging of a ship, or if he was rocked to sleep each night by the sea. He never knew his mother - she had left when he was only two - but he often wondered about her.
“Do you have a picture of her?” He’d once asked his daddy.
“No.” He’d grunted, refusing to look up from his work.
“What did she look like?”
“Look in the mirror.” Was all his daddy told him. He rarely spoke about Will’s mother, and the one thing he refused to say at all was the reason why she left.
“Does it matter?” He’d snap whenever Will asked. “Knowing why she’s gone won’t bring her back.”
Will learned eventually to stop asking, though he never once stopped wondering where she was and what had happened. It was strange to him that she was out there somewhere, living a life completely separate from his own, and he often dreamed of finding her, usually when his daddy had too much to drink and got too mean to bear, but it was never something he considered seriously, knowing how impossible it would be.
But that morning, trudging through the rain and darkness to the docks, Will couldn’t help but wonder if such a thing really was as impossible as it seemed…
—————
“So, the old drunk finally bit it, huh?” The dock master drawled, smirking down at Will over the top of his desk. “Can’t say that I’m surprised. Although I will say I never expected him to last this long - I never knew a man who liked a drink as much as John.”
He sat back in his seat, still chuckling quietly to himself. Will waited patiently, trying very hard to keep the hatred that he felt from bleeding into his expression. When the dockmaster’s laughter finally died down, he turned to Will with a scowl.
“What are you still doing here?” He snapped. “Get back to work!”
“But what about my daddy’s wages?”
“What about them?”
“My daddy told me you were supposed to pay him today. For the work he did last week.”
“That’s right, I was.” The dock master said with an oily grin. “I was going to pay John Graham for his work, not Will Graham. Him, I don’t owe anything.”
“But that’s a whole week’s pay we were expecting!” Will protested loudly, panic surging in his chest. “You can’t just-”
“What?” The dock master barked, rising abruptly to his feet and glaring hatefully down at Will, who cowered back. “I can’t just what ? Just because your daddy’s dead, it doesn’t mean that you’re entitled to a single, goddamn thing I owe him, you little bastard! That’s not how this works!”
“But I-”
“If you don’t like it, you can leave! But otherwise, get back to work! I’m not paying you to stand around arguing with me!”
----------
“Work” was perhaps a bit generous in describing what Will did - he was far too little to be much help with loading and unloading boats and lacked the knowledge needed to repair them. Instead, he acted mostly as a messenger between the different groups of workers, relaying tools and information up and down the docks for them and occasionally squeezing into spaces too small for them to fit in. Compared to what the other workers did, the pennies that Will earned seemed more than fair.
Still, pennies weren’t enough to live on. They may have been enough to buy a bed for the night and perhaps a loaf of bread, but not much else.
“This isn’t sussainable.”
“S-s-sustainable.” Peter corrected him, sitting beside Will at the bar. His hands shook violently as he lifted his glass for a drink, beer sloshing down the sides.
Peter had never been the same since his accident last year - he stuttered and cried a lot, and moved in a strange, scuttling kind of way that the other workers found unnerving. But he was kind, and the animals loved him, so much so that the dock master insisted on keeping him around, if only to avoid disaster when transporting them. When Peter had heard the news about what happened to Will’s daddy, he’d been devastated.
“Maybe I should get a job at a factory instead.” Will mused, grimacing as he swallowed a mouthful of beer. He didn’t really like the taste, but it was safer than the Orleans drinking water, and it didn’t seem right to refuse it, especially when Peter had insisted on buying it for him. “They pay better.”
“N-not by much.” Peter mumbled, as though he were afraid of being overheard. “And-and-and they’re…d- dangerous .”
Will wondered if Peter of all people realized the irony of that statement. “No more than the docks.”
“M-m- more than the docks.” Peter insisted firmly. “Much more.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” Will asked him, “I can’t survive on just a handful of pennies every week!”
Peter fidgeted in his seat, avoiding Will’s eyes. “Will.” He said after a moment, sounding hesitant. “M-maybe it’d be b-bet-better if you…if you w-went to an-an or-or-orphanage.”
“No.” Will snapped, scowling down at his drink.
“B-but, Will, you w-wouldn’t have to w-wo-work.” Peter reminded him. “Y-you’d-you’d have a b-bed. A-and f-f-food.”
“And be beaten every day?” Will snarled at him.
“T-the laws have got-gotten b-b-better, Will.” Peter told him, his tone gentle. “It’s not…not l-like how it-it used t-to be.”
“I won’t do it.” Will said stubbornly. “I’ll starve before I put myself through that.”
Peter heaved a sigh. “P-people have d-done all-all kinds of things they…they wouldn’t nor..normally do to a-avoid s-star-v-v-vation…Will.” He said. “Y-you might not h-ha-have a ch-choice.”
Will bit his lip and looked away, knowing he was right. “What am I supposed to do?” He asked again, voice shaking slightly. “I’ve got no other options. And there’s no one who can help me.”
Peter was quiet for so long that Will began to wonder if he hadn’t heard him.
“Mm-m-maybe you should…should go t-to Ches-Ch-Chesa-peake.” He said eventually. Will looked over at him, puzzled.
“Chesapeake?”
“It’s n-north of…of here.” Peter said. “P–p-past Duluth…by B-Balti…m-more.”
Will had heard of Chesapeake before - his daddy had once been offered a job there, but he had turned it down, saying that the town was far too small and far too far to be worth the trip. “Why would I go there?” He asked with a frown, turning his glass in small-half circles on the bar. “There’s nothing there.”
“It’s wh-where your m-mo-mother was f-from.”
Will looked over at him sharply. “What?”
Peter nodded jerkily. “Yo-your d-d-dad-daddy met her up t-there. May…maybe she w-went b-b-back. After she…she left.”
Will stared at him, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “My mother was from Chesapeake?” He asked, his voice no more than a whisper.
“That’s w-what your da-daddy told me.” Peter said. “E-even if she’s…she’s n-n-not there, ma-may-maybe s-someone t-there k-k-knows where she…she is n-now.”
Will considered this, realizing that there was truth in that statement. “But how would I get there?” He asked. “I don’t have enough money for a boat or coach ticket.”
Peter looked around the bar, as though checking to make sure no one was listening to them. “Y-you could…you could… s-s-sneak …onboard…th-the next s-sh-ship out.” He whispered. “N-no one w-w-would ever kn-know.”
That was true - Will had been working with his daddy on the docks for so long that almost everybody there knew him. He doubted anyone would think to question it if he offered to help load the next boat bound for Chesapeake, nor would any of them care enough to notice if he wasn’t there after it had left. Maybe…maybe it was possible.
“Do you know when the next boat for Chesapeake is supposed to come through?”
“N-next week. F-Fri-Friday, I th-think.”
Will nodded to himself, counting down the days. “Would you help me?” He asked quietly. “When the boat comes, will you help me sneak onboard?”
He waited, breathless, as Peter turned and looked at him. He seemed surprised.
“Of c-course, Will.” He said. “You’re m-m-my fr-friend.”
Will smiled, relief washing over him. “Thank you.”
Peter nodded, and shakily raised his glass. “To Ch-Ch-Chesapeake.” He said. “M-may it h-have e-e-everthing you’re l-looking f-f-for. Will.”
Will touched his glass to Peter’s, knowing that all odds were against him, and that he needed as much help as he could get if this was going to work. As he swallowed down his drink, he couldn’t help but hope that if fate was listening to their toast, it would be kinder to him going forward than it had been in the past.
----------
In the end, it was much easier than Will expected.
The ship came into port late on Friday afternoon, gliding smoothly over the water before dropping anchor alongside the dock. Will rushed forward as soon as it had stopped, impatiently waiting beside the ship as the gangway was slowly lowered down.
“Bootlickers don’t make extra.” One of the workers called irritably after him when Will all but leapt aboard, darting quickly for the cargo hold. “I don’t know what you’re so eager for.”
Will ignored him, dutifully hauling one of the smaller packages in his arms and ferrying it over the gangway and onto the dock. It took a little over an hour to get everything unloaded, and Will spent the remainder of the evening watching the shipwrights work, diligently scraping the ship’s hull from one end to the other and repairing whatever damage they could find. By the time they finished, the sun had long set and the lanterns had been lit, their reflections flickering brightly on the wine-dark sea.
“All right! She’s good to go! We can start loading first thing in the morning!”
“No, it has to go out tonight! We’re already behind as it is - we can’t afford to wait any longer-”
Will kept a close watch on the dwindling pile of crates as he helped carry them on board, monitoring how many were left as he scrambled back and forth between them and the boat. When there were only a handful left, he picked up one of the last of the few smaller boxes and carried it up the gangway to the hold, setting it down among the others before carefully squeezing himself into a small corner behind one of the larger crates. There he waited, crouched low among the cargo, holding his breath and listening to the gentle sound of lapping water, praying that he wouldn’t get caught despite being absolutely convinced that he would...
It felt like forever before Will finally heard a muffled shout from somewhere up above him.
“Anchors aweigh!”
There was a long pause, followed by a sudden jolt, and then at long last, Will felt the boat begin to move. He released the breath he had been holding, closing his eyes and slumping back against the wall of the hold, almost dizzy with relief.
He had done it. He had actually done it - Orleans and all its problems were behind him, and he was on his way to newer, better things. To Chesapeake, and all it had to offer, and…hopefully…his mother.
Feeling hopeful for the first time in his life, Will stretched out atop the spare tarps and the bags of rice and slowly drifted off to sleep, soothed by the gentle rocking of the boat beneath him.
—————
Peter had told Will it would take two days to reach Chesapeake by boat, though whether that was true or not was hard to say - curled up in the dark and windowless cargo hold, he had no way of measuring just how many days had passed when they finally came to a shuddering halt, but it felt like it had been at least three. By the time they opened up the cargo hold, Will was nearly faint with hunger and desperate for fresh air, but he forced himself to remain still and silent behind the crates, waiting for the chance to bolt.
“Christ. Would you look at this crap?! It’s gonna take us at least two hours to get it all unloaded.”
“Hmm.”
“Unbelievable. How one of the smallest, most isolated towns in all of England manages to afford even half of what it imports is beyond me.”
“Hmm.” The second voice hummed again. “Lecter.”
“Hmph. Probably, with the kind of money he has. If you ask me, it’s disgusting.” There was another snort, followed by what sounded like a boot meeting wood. “Alright, Frankenstein, let’s go. We don’t got all night.”
“Hmm.”
Will waited until their footsteps had faded into silence before climbing cautiously out from behind his crate, his legs stiff and shaking from disuse as he stumbled forward. Even with the door of the cargo hold flung wide open, it was very dark, and Will thought it must be either very late or very early as he crept slowly through the shadows down the hall. It was strangely quiet, nothing like the chaos of the Orleans docks that Will was used to, and he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as he poked his head through the hatch, convinced that something was wrong.
From the upper deck, Will could see the waxing moon high in the velvet sky among a thick dusting of stars, bathing the world in an eerie, silvery glow. Will blinked, staring up at the night sky in awe - he had never seen so many stars before, and never ones so bright…
The sound of low voices brought him swiftly back to earth again. Curious, Will peered over the taffrail down at the docks, where two figures stood huddled together, standing guard with burning cigarettes dangling from between their curled fingers.
“-not sure when we’ll be back this way again. Seems like those workers’ strikes might actually be gaining some momentum.”
“That’s the problem with those big cities.” The other man said, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Too many people, not enough of anything to go around. Us, we’ve only got five men working the docks at one time and that’s more than enough for us.”
Will felt his stomach drop. Only five dock workers? Just how small of a town was Chesapeake? And just what was he supposed to do for work if he couldn’t find it at the docks?
“-can tell you this, I’d rather be here than Orleans any day. Place is an absolute hellhole. People being murdered in the streets everyday.”
“Ain’t much better here.” The other chuckled darkly. “Verger may be gone, but we’ve still got the Ripper”
“Pfft. Come off it.
“I’m serious! Why, we had a guy disappear just last week-”
But before he could say anything else, there came a sudden, earsplitting crash! from somewhere below deck. Will jumped, startled, and the two men on the dock beneath him cursed.
“HOBBS!” One of them howled, with only barely contained glee as they came charging up the gangway. “You useless, fucking bastard! If you’ve broken another crate, I’ll dock you two weeks’ worth of wages, I swear to God I will!”
Will pressed himself flat against the wall of the ship, shrinking back into the shadows as they ran past, spitting curses as they did.
“Goddammit, if I have to explain to one more client why their purchase was damaged under our care -”
Will waited until they disappeared from view before he straightened up once more, stealing silently across deck and sprinting down the gangway to the dock, his heart frantic in his chest. He didn’t stop until the gently swaying planks gave way to solid stone, skidding to a halt on shaking legs and gasping desperately for air. When he finally felt like he could draw breath, Will glanced nervously over his shoulder at the ship, watching it bob peacefully up and down with a frown.
He waited, refusing to believe that it had really been that easy, that he somehow hadn’t managed to get caught, but after several moments had passed without so much as a stir on the deck, Will had to admit that he was free. He heaved a sigh, slumping back against the weathered boathouse that loomed behind him, weak with relief as he stood listening to the familiar, soothing sounds of lapping water and gently creaking ships.
Distant shouting had him scrambling to his feet again.
“You’re on your last strike, Hobbs - you hear me?! I don’t care what it is, if you so much as forget to date a shipping order, you’re done!”
Will could see people moving around on the ship, striding angrily across the deck with heavy boxes in their arms. He watched them nervously as they came slowly down the gangway, picking their way carefully by the flickering lantern light and setting the crates down gently on the dock. Though he doubted they would have any reason to come closer, Will didn’t like being out in the open, where anyone could see him, and especially when he was all alone in an unfamiliar place…
Craning his head back, Will saw that there was no lock on the boathouse door, and he quickly pulled it open. He slipped quietly inside, shutting the door behind him and squinting in the darkness. When his eyes finally adjusted, Will saw that there was only a single boat inside, a half-finished skiff draped in canvas tarps. He shuffled over to it, utterly exhausted, lifting one of the sheets and crawling carefully beneath it.
Nestled in the familiar cradle of a boat, Will drifted slowly off to sleep, soothed by the promise of tomorrow and eager for all it would bring.
In the distance, something howled.