His father's chest slowed, the flow of blood from his side had stopped, and his eyes stared emptily at the dark sky, the flames from the burning homes lighting the scene in lights of yellow an orange.
Wrack wrapped his arm around the body before him, clutching him close, burying his face in his chest.. the scent of the man who raised him, taught him, and loved him, mingled with the scent of smoke and blood..
Pulling himself back, he looked at his father, the pain had ended, the kobolds were gone, and his home was burning..
Glancing down, to his father's clutching hands, a bundle of dark cloth was wrapped around something with squared edges..
...
His eyes were lightly filling with tears once again at the thought of the eventsof the months passed as his booted feet trod silently upon the cobblestones leading from the ports to the central market of New Thalos.
Absent-mindedly rounding a small corner bordered by a tall stone wall, his eyes watching his feet, and not the street before him, he collided with an encloaked figure. His pack fell from his shoulder, its meager contents spilling onto the street before him, and he stumbled, glancing up..
Sharp angles made up the face hidden in the shadows beneath a hood, two protrusions growing from its forehead and the glint of surprised black eyes..
