The cracks of light from the dusty attic had faded. Even through the lid of this chest, it seemed obvious that evening had fallen. Why had the young master not returned? Why was I so thirsty?
I'd not wanted to play the young master's silly game of Hide and Seek. He'd insisted. Just after his gentry friends had laughed at him, when they'd spotted the way he looked distractedly at me cleaning the grate. His high and mighty friends had laughed and joked the way the Butcher's apprentices did at market day.
The young master seemed upset and shot me a glance that broke my heart. We'd always been friends. When no one was looking. Since we'd been children playing in the Stables.
So, he'd helped me to hide, the young master, and fastened the lid, whispering it would throw my pursuers off the scent. And he was the young master, so what could I say. What could I do?
He'd come in the morning. Once he thought I'd learned whatever lesson of insolence he thought I'd needed. Surely then? But I am SO thirsty. Sleep now. Such a long sleep. Two hundred years.
Tomorrow he'd come. He'd promised and wasnt I his favourite? Didn't we promise we'd always love each other, no matter what?