Thursday, April 22, 2010

Interlude 7

He stood on the edge of the field and watched the flames crackle and dance, golden-bright against the black of the sky. His eyes glimmered green, briefly in the glow, before turning sea-blue once more. He’d roamed for several lifetimes before settling here, where he was meant to be, near the sea.

The man stood at the edge of his small farm, clutching his squalling infant son and staring, wet-eyed and terrified, as his home burned down.

The village would know the truth of the man’s wife, the cause of the fire, and always suspect his son.

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