Chapter 3

When it comes to pain, whether it be physical or mental, Ivan could usually muster sympathy. Seeing Thomas however, he didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy and he grinned whenever he saw him struggling.

“It has to become humorless at some point in time,” said Thomas, a scowl fixed on his face.

“Not for me. Each time is just as refreshing as the last.” He turned away and felt his grin fall as he eyed the task at hand.

Both the boys had been working since dawn, stacking logs the timber-workers brought into stacks of twenty. With the sun casting down relentless heat, sweat ran freely down their faces and soaked into their tunics. Already the boys had stacked twelve piles of logs.

“Of all the jobs you could have chosen, you had to pick this one.” Thomas undid the ties on his shirt and threw the damp material to the side.