this tragic affair

The man's breath comes slowly and heavily. The sun is his narcotic. He finds that he has closed his eyes again but replacing the consuming darkness is an endless reel of memories. His ears stand erect and slightly angled towards Laxago in a display of awareness. He is listening. He is paying attention. He is only tired and it was been winter a long, long time. De? her voice carries forth, ears twitching with the gentle verberation. Yes Laxago? he inquires blindly; unsure if he is speaking to a memory or to the real world. A sentiment of nostalgia settles heavily upon him.




The man is not sad. He is unsure what he feels; other than the great weariness that has settled upon his shoulders and blackens the corners of his thought. He is relaxed for once in his life. No obligations can be thought of to prompt him from his stillness.

Table by Azil