there's light at the edge of the darkness
Remaining silent as Amalia spoke of her mother, Loren continued weaving. Between his hands and his magic, his basket was starting to take shape. For a long while, he stayed quiet. However, as the baker set her basket down and her expression grew upset, he glanced at her. His own eyes were haunted. "What's your favorite memory of her?" The question came out softly.
Turning back to his work, he felt his hands grow sluggish as his mind grew distant. "I don't really remember my birth mother. She died when I was very young. It..." His voice trailed off as his eyes sparkled with tears he refused to shed. "I sometimes wonder if...what it would've been like if she lived."
Turning back to his work, he felt his hands grow sluggish as his mind grew distant. "I don't really remember my birth mother. She died when I was very young. It..." His voice trailed off as his eyes sparkled with tears he refused to shed. "I sometimes wonder if...what it would've been like if she lived."
loren
