Feb 17, 2017
@ayanelath
continued from here
He hums softly, a tone of agreement and shared appreciation. “Firebugs littered the fields every summer, weaving in and out of rye and barley. Sometimes I’d catch one just to see the glow of it against all the iron soot still coating my hands, like I’d dug through the earth and found a living piece of pyrite.”
The rough spun fabric of his plain tunic shifts across his shoulders as he repositions more comfortably. “Is your home far away? It has been many years since I have last seen mine.”
