Quiet footsteps echo outside as the weary traveler makes his way along the beaten path. A dark and weathered man, old in appearence but with bright eyes betraying his age gradually make his was towards the door. His eyes reflect wisdom, yet betray a great inner turmoil.
...
Dark have my travels been and hard has been the path I have chosen for myself. But no matter how difficult or dangerous I can never forgive myself, the pain, anger and loss I will forever feel throughout the rest of my days.
The hunt, the joy of the kill, and then the return. My village burned, my people dead or taken. The house dances like kindling before my eyes and then the image that I am forever seeing. My wife. The hand of my unborn child reaching out to me....I struggle to push the moment behind me, it is to painful to continue. Never again will I risk attaching myself to ones I love for I cannot bear for the same fate to befall them. The failed chieftain need a drink, I need to forget at least for a time the misery I am in.
Slowely I open the door and walk inside, drawing my cloak around me.
[ January 05, 2003: Message edited by: Carrūn ]
[ January 05, 2003: Message edited by: Carrūn ]
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"Dic, hospes, Spartae, nos te hic vidisse iacentes dum sanctis patriae legibus obsequimur."
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