"When there is justice again…" He remembered himself saying it, but his weary brain and overwhelming and permanent exhaustion left Much confused about the echoing of this quote in his ears. It was important, very important, and it had something to do with Bonchurch. It had been a very hard year until King Richard returned, but Much was slowly climbing his way from the sticky black pit of grief. Prince John was rid of and justice was served at last. And although weary, he visited his friend's graves daily and there was enough peace to get by. He had packed his belongings, left the camp well with fond memories of the long gone carpenter, and was now aimless.
Dark circles under his eyes, lines around the edges of his face, he felt older. He felt weathered. He made his way, the deed signed by the King in hand, toward Bonchurch.
"When there is justice again…" he whispered. "What am I to do?" He had passed through Nettlestone before he remembered. A woman, round and wise, had yelled to him from the outskirts.
"God Bless Ye This Christmas Eve, Master!"
And he broke into a run.