Prologue

Regrets are the instruments by which we learn. We tend not to repeat those things we regret. A remorse, I think, is a much deeper thing. I tend not to dwell on regrets. For all the pain they’ve caused me, they have allowed me to grow and become a better man, sometimes despite myself. I regret how I treated my first love, but it taught me how to better live with my wife. I regret not working very hard in school, but now I know to apply myself in my work. I feel bad about the thin. . .

Prologue

Regrets are the instruments by which we learn. We tend not to repeat those things we regret. A remorse, I think, is a much deeper thing. I tend not to dwell on regrets. For all the pain they’ve caused me, they have allowed me to grow and become a better man, sometimes despite myself. I regret how I treated my first love, but it taught me how to better live with my wife. I regret not working very hard in school, but now I know to apply myself in my work. I feel bad about the thin. . .

The moment Fort Lasthall finally appeared at the far end of the dirt road, Jak halted with his barrow full of books.

For all his childhood, Jak had drifted from village to village. He’d slept beneath trees or in haylofts or sheltered ditches. He’d been a helper to a bootblack, a fetcher, and a costermonger, and all that before he was ten winters. He’d stayed in so many places, but he’d never thought them as home. His books were his only possessions, and with them he’d wandered.<. .>

The moment Fort Lasthall finally appeared at the far end of the dirt road, Jak halted with his barrow full of books.

For all his childhood, Jak had drifted from village to village. He’d slept beneath trees or in haylofts or sheltered ditches. He’d been a helper to a bootblack, a fetcher, and a costermonger, and all that before he was ten winters. He’d stayed in so many places, but he’d never thought them as home. His books were his only possessions, and with them he’d wandered.<. .>