![]() One had a large nose that looked like an eagle’s beak and black hair. He realized that this was the fourth time in the past week or so that he’d seen them. It wasn’t until later that night as he got ready for bed that he thought about the two men again. The best thing to do was simply to ignore them. People had been watching him his entire life. Robby wasn’t concerned one way or the other. It was nearly dusk, the gallery cloaked in shadow. Walking back to the athletic center, he glanced at the monastery. He knew it would be foolish to expect anything more. He got knocked down two more times, but he caught a pass and almost tackled Karl Marshal. ![]() He caught up to the game in time to run into a ruck. He liked being called “Krok.” A week later, everyone had forgotten it. One of his teachers had remarked upon his determination and called him “Das Krokodil.” For a few days, the nickname stuck. He might not be as big as the others yet, or as strong, but he was no quitter. He was small for a sixth former and thin, with pale skin, a mop of curly blond hair, and questioning blue eyes. When he’d regained his breath, he set off down the field, limping at first, then shaking it off and running as fast as he could. Robby climbed to his feet and wiped the dirt from his face. “Might as well make a mud castle while you’re down there.” Robby’s feet left the ground and he landed flat on his back, his wind knocked out of him, sure he’d never take a breath again. Robby returned his attention to the scrimmage in time to see the scrum half-it was Karl Marshal, the best player on the team-lower his shoulder and plow into him. The boy could tell they thought he hadn’t spotted them. They stayed in the shadows of the gallery, popping out to take a photograph, then ducking back again. There were two of them, up by the monastery on the hill overlooking the athletic field.
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