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[Arahim]

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Arahim clutched his left hand within his right. Unconsciously he drew his thumb slowly over the pale, thin scars that adorned him from fingers to elbow like some indecipherable relief map exactingly drawn by some moribund hand.

The frenzied jigsaw of dead skin bespoke a desperate need to etch It's mark upon the living.

Gifted in blood, and paid for with persistent memory no less potent than the actual wounds.

Reluctant to end the play, Summer's constellations wheeled high above him in symmetrical rhythm with the world. The sky cloudless and clear, making Night's bountiful lights shine unnaturally bright. Ghostly painting the stone columns around him dancing silver and pearl.

The dew soaked grass around his planted, booted feet strewn with earthbound stars.

Arahim shook miserably in the cool midnight air, tho' he sat as still as he might. Hooded and wrapped tightly in his thick fur cloak.

Cloying frost hung wraithlike with his every shallow breath, before disassociating tendril, by tendril. Leaving, as ever, nothing behind.

Scraps of birdsong warbled unseen in the distance.

Buoyant breeze.

Looming before him, his maple tree.

The secret, sweeping scrape of leaf upon leaf, a threnody before sleep.