|
Ydalon
His heart was slow in returning to its regular pace. He'd suffered musings and flashes of events in the past, but few so ill timed as to occur over dinner with 'his' group. It would not do to seem plagued or distracted in company.
Silencing his shockborn questions, the boy concluded his meal swiftly before excusing himself. Thinking on the raw fish flesh in his sling, Ydalon was almost certain it would not do. His fingers found the scratch mark on his hand even as he left the group's line of sight.
|