solid, cold, flat—and still I grabbed at the earth.
Chapter 50 SHAKING MY HEAD rather forcefully, I found that my sadness, the deep, painful sensation that had been gripping my heart, had been blown away, left behind with the rest of the farm, and my mom and dad. Now I was lying on the ground, clinging to a few stalks of straw. The air was humid and smelled like summer. I just lay there for a while enjoying the quiet peace until I felt a sharp poke in the ribs. "Is he dead?" I heard a raspy English voice say next. "Dunno," said another. "Well, does he have any coin? May as well take what we can get from him." Fearing the worst as always, I slowly opened my eyes. The two men leaning over me took a hasty step back, and I got a good look at them. What the—? These guys looked like they'd gotten their potato-sack clothes at a farmers' market—or a theater costume shop. They were covered in grime, and the ripe smell of unwashed flesh and body odor hit my nose. One even had horseflies buzzing around his mouth and hair-sprouting ears. I wondered if it would be impolite to point this out, and decided that since the same man held a nasty-looking knife, I would let his hygiene issues slide for now. I squinted at him—and his weapon.