Rhyming Epitaphs
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He sensed the archer looking at him. “You do have good instincts,” he said. “Exceptional, in fact. I haven’t seen anything like it.”
Despite the somber mood, Wylder felt a current of thrill run down his spine. He figured it must be the novelty. After all, when had he heard any sort of praise from this man?
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The Roundtable Hold isn’t meant to last. Neither are the things that transpire there.
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- Part 1 of Rhyming Epitaphs
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“So, what brings you out here?” he asked, as he pulled down his mask. He sounded like he had a good guess already. He was perceptive, and Wylder had never been good at hiding his thoughts.
He turned to look out at the horizon. The sun was now setting; the varied hues in the sky were subsumed into a single, stark red.
“Death,” he said. “I dreamed of death.”
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A dying man and a man who cannot die discuss that which divides them. Neither is fully satisfied with the understanding they reach.
Series
- Part 2 of Rhyming Epitaphs