Gottschalk – Lone Voice in the Night (2)

The young monk bent over the manuscript he was copying and sighed. He heard the birds singing their springtime songs and looked out the window. He looked down at his writing again. He had practiced on a cookbook and had done a fine enough job to be assigned texts from Augustine and other church fathers. It was tedious work. His shoulders ached. The last line was almost complete and he did not want to spill any ink now. The bell from the abbey rang. Gottschalk wiped his brow. It was the hour...