Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Arahim]

---

With the sun just touching the horizon, Arahim sat alone listening to morning birds greet a new day.

The pearl grey dawn throwing armies of shadow wherever it's light touched a static world that refused to move of it's own accord, creating the illusion of growth and change where there was none.

An untouched plate of cold, salted pork kept him company. A chilly breeze whispered its absurdities and travelled on.

His head was full of a numb nothing which he struggled to coalesce.

Blood spiderwebbed his right forearm to his wrist, where he had unconsciously picked away at his stitching. The wound was a momento from Minoc.

The careful stitching he had ruined, was not.

A thin line of liquid red lazed it's way to his hand, tracing the angular scar tissue on his wrist, then drip-dropping into the grass at his feet, and disappearing.

Annoyed at himself, Arahim went inside to re-stitch himself.

He knew immediately, it would hurt.