Are
The short moment of amusement, played or genuine, reflected in the drunk Are. A chord struck by the Shepherd of the drowned, muted the very next moment as the subject at hand took precedence over simple pleasures, no matter the level of inebriation. Then it got close, far too close. Just a breath away and the cobbler shivered, but not from fear, only cold. The bone chilling breath of the depths whispering to a son left just a moment too early, one now coming back with his hat in hand and kneeling. Truth be told, not that Are would listen to the particular one, he longed for the depths. For in their grasp, at the brink of death, he had never felt so alive.
He swallowed hard and nodded at the order given. Gospel from the mouth of a god without mouth, truth that was as inevitable and undeniable as the death that spoke it. "I will, Shepherd. I will do what is necessary." he answered at last, almost whispering and desperately trying to reign in an unruly body leaking cold sweat and dignity.
He swallowed hard and nodded at the order given. Gospel from the mouth of a god without mouth, truth that was as inevitable and undeniable as the death that spoke it. "I will, Shepherd. I will do what is necessary." he answered at last, almost whispering and desperately trying to reign in an unruly body leaking cold sweat and dignity.
