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ended.
    The smell of the ocean burned Gargoth’s nose as he strained to see the town through the eyeholes of his sack. He couldn’t see much, but what he did see filled him with amazement: many people, busy taverns, horses and carts, endless water, a shoreline of tall white cliffs, and strange birds wheeling and crying in the air above him.
    And what looked like carts floating in the water. He had to ask Philip what the things in the water were, since he had no name for them.
    “They’re called boats, Gargoth. Now shhh,” Philip whispered over his shoulder into the sack behind him. Gargoth could just make out many, many wooden boats, some with tall wooden sticks in the middle and great white cloths hanging on them, flapping in the breeze. Others were much smaller, with small sticks on the sides.
    Gargoth could only stare. He had to be quiet in case someone discovered him hiding in the sack, so he hung silently over Philip’s shoulder through all the events of that long, strange night. They arrived in the town just as the villagers were setting their fires for the evening meal, and Gargoth choked on the heavy smoke which hung in the streets.
    The first thing Philip did was to climb down from the cart and carefully lead the horse through the muddy town to a sign hanging over a doorway. The sign had a horse and cart on it. He knocked hard, and the top part of the wooden door swung outward immediately.
    “Yes?” came a gruff voice.
    “How much for this horse and cart? My father has sent me to sell it.” Gargoth couldn’t see what was happening very well, but he couldn’t believe his ears. Philip hadn’t mentioned this before.
    Gargoth heard the bottom part of the door swing open and caught sight of a huge beard as a giant man walked past his sack, around the cart. He could hear the man breathing hard. He sensed that the man was running his hands over the horse’s back and hooves and over her head and nose. Then he heard the man turn toward the cart and bang his hands on the wood, giving it a good shake.
    “Where’s your father then, boy?” he heard the gruff voice say.
    “He’s back in the village with my young sister and mother,” Philip answered.
    It wasn’t a lie, exactly. His father was with Philip’s mother and sister, buried deep in the village field.
    “This isn’t much of a horse, more an oversized pony,” the man grunted again.
    “She’s sturdy though, sir, and good-tempered. She’s not seen more than four summers altogether. She’ll last her new owner many years. She’s never foaled, but her mother had many good healthy foals.” Philip said all this very quickly but stoutly. Gargoth knew his friend well enough to catch the odd tone in his voice; Philip was not much of a liar.
    There was a long pause, then Gargoth heard the man go back into the doorway, followed by the jingle of coins. He counted some of them out into Philip’s hand then said, “Go quickly, before I ask any more questions.”
    Philip stuffed the coins into his linen shirt, then reached into the cart and hoisted Gargoth’s sack onto his back. Another sack he filled with the remaining apples in the back of the cart, then he turned away from his father’s horse and cart without another word and headed toward the water’s edge.
    He couldn’t bear to run his hand over the horse’s soft nose even one more time. He was trying hard not to remember the morning she was born, and how he and his father had leaned over the fence of the farmyard, watching as the newborn foal took her first steps into the world.
    He walked very quickly down to the waterfront, drawing his shirt sleeve over his burning eyes only once.
    When it grew quiet and there were fewer people nearby, Gargoth spoke up. “Why did you do that? Why did you sell your father’s horse and cart?” he growled angrily.
    “How do you think we are going to get across the English Channel? Can you swim? I can’t,” Philip snapped back, nasty for the first and only time