A single wax candle flickered on ironwood table, casting long shadows against the weeping stone walls. On the table lay no fruit or fine southern wine, but a scattering of stacks of paper and broken wax seals.
Alpheo stood with his back to the light, his silhouette motionless, looking out through a window into the gray winter mist.It was rare for mist to come to Yarzat, and when it did it was short lived and small.
This time was neither.It lingered from morning all the way to late afternoon.Perhaps tomorrow it would linger too.
His missing ear somehow itched as if burnt. He scartched it , delicately as he could as warned by Agalosios.
Across from him, barely illuminated by the pale candlelight,stood another. Even more grim than he could ever be.
