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Abarak 8The all three had dinner together. Aiden didn't recognise most of the food laid on the table. There were fruits and berries he couldn't name, meat from animals he had never seen. Recalling the dining etiquette he had been taught, he managed. Aiden's mother had rested her eyes on him, but turned them back on the stranger. "So, how is it?" She asked him, and he shrugged. He was on an edge, a thought peeked at the corner of Aiden's mind. No longer a child, not quite a man.
"The same. Pirates at the eastern sea. Dismay to the new emperor. They won't rebel. Some famine in the east end. Orcs on the fringes." Aiden didn't know what orcs were. He'd heard they were people of the plains, nomads of some sort, whose arrow could kill a man with one shot. It was really hard to kill a man with an arrow. He could ask that Vernas, and he would surely know, but Aiden didn't want to give him the pleasure.
Harom was unpacking things in Aiden's room. The task was practically meaningless, the Lady had alrea
WordsmithWhy do you speak of spring
You child of wind and frost
Why of the scents of flowers
Your lungs are full of ash
Why of the softness of grass
You don't have any fingers
Why of the rays of sunlight
Your skin has never felt
Why of the singing of birds
For you are deaf as stone
Why do you speak of beauty
When you have no tongue?
Abarak 7Harom and Aiden walked another day. Harom did his best not to grow frustrated at the speed of the limping boy. The boy were to be his master, he might as well learn to like him. He'd be with him for life, if he were lucky. The stinging at the back of his head reminded him of that. The boy was silent, seeing the city did not seem to change that. Harom was quite sure he had not seen what had happened.
It was hard to be back in Brethage. The sun burned a hole on his neck, the road was coarse underneath his feet. But it wasn't that. It wasn't the dust of the streets that fought its way up his lungs, or the noise of the people and horses. Not the weight of the bag he carried on his shoulder. Not even the people. The town had not changed, not a bit. It was he who had. His master tottered onward, seemingly unimpressed by what spread before him. A doubt of the boy's intellect lingered at the back of his mind.
The streets smelled like clay, horses and people. Everywhere Aiden heard spoken Harid
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