Nįrello sat upon the counter in silence. He had watched Awrygan slip out of the Inn practically unoticed. Off again on some task which he would throw himself into in an attempt to quiet his own demons, only the boy knew from experience it would make no difference once it was over. The pain was too much to bear.
"He's gone," the boy said softly to himself and no one else in particular. Although he did not realize it, this was true in more ways than one. He had finished all the apples and was getting sleeping. His head nodded and he fell asleep on the counter.
[ January 12, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]
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"Dic, hospes, Spartae, nos te hic vidisse iacentes dum sanctis patriae legibus obsequimur."
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