Recent content by Willard Brudenell

Willard smiled down at his son, the spitting image of himself from decades prior. Well, he had more cheek than he remembered having, but that was good. “What’s this? Trying to take my pastry? Why, you haven’t even finished the one you’re eating!” Voice full of mock scorn, the older stoat...

It had become something of a routine. In the morning, the stoat would set a kettle to boil, for tea or coughee, whatever struck his or his wife’s fancy that given week. It was the sort of thing a house servant would normally do, but Willard appreciated the task. It brought him out of bed with a...