Wilom sat at the dining table with his coffee. He wanted to be out of the house by the time Cathlin and Jilli woke up, but he had no letters left to write and no appointments to go to. Continue reading “Old Friends”
Allies and Friends
Wilom double-checked the address in his notes before knocking on the door. Mr Treene, hm? The ledger information on him was contradictory – all underlines and warnings and scribbled notes about how rich he was, and his unfailing honesty, no two comments in the same handwriting. In the end, though, he was only one of two letters Wilom had gotten a response to. So Wilom had decided to go and see for himself. Continue reading “Allies and Friends”
Meetings
Wilom might have ignored the sun completely and slept away the morning if not for Vanda tapping on his window. Continue reading “Meetings”
Personal Questions
Almost as if she’d been summoned, Vanda found him the next afternoon on his way home from the farm. She hid and waited for him in an alley, reaching out and grabbing his arm as he walked past. Continue reading “Personal Questions”
Farming
Wilom woke up earlier than he’d ever willingly woken up in his life to get to the orchard.
The Capital
The first sign they saw of the Capital was literally a sign. It read “Welcome to Rechford, Bright Capital of Bramary!” Continue reading “The Capital”
In Tents
In the morning, Wilom learned he wasn’t the only one leaving the hotel for the Capital. A woman and her daughter were travelling just ahead of him on the road. The daughter was skipping on ahead, babbling half to herself, and half to a distressingly realistic stuffed toy bear. She wore a backpack, the child-sized duplicate of the one on the woman’s back. Continue reading “In Tents”
Back Up
Wilom dropped his head back against the wall, just hard enough to sting. They’d taken the knife out of his bag, but left everything else. The doors were locked, and he couldn’t see who was in the cells opposite or beside him, though he doubted he was in anything more serious than a holding cell. Yet. Continue reading “Back Up”
Missing
At the top of the stairs, Wilom stopped to rub his burning thighs. Continue reading “Missing”
The Clear Path
Wilom started to grow tired of waiting for the ferryman to say something. Being in the boat was starting to chafe. Not the job – Duty – itself; there was never any difference in that. But he and the ferryman seemed to have hit a sort of rut. Their silences were nothing like the companionable silences they used to have, the silent understanding that there was nothing they really needed to say. Now, they seemed stale. The big unanswered question of whether Wilom would leave or stay hung between them and Wilom couldn’t talk without feeling like he was deliberately avoiding the topic. The ferryman’s manner didn’t change, but Wilom was sure he felt it too. Continue reading “The Clear Path”
Whimsy and Metaphor 