full moon rising on the waters of my soul
When night fell, Amun's preparations were complete and he found himself standing in front of the door to Samuel's shop. The potter smoothed out the front of his shirt. It was a billowy affair, in a shade of red half-way between maroon and crimson. He had tucked it into the form-fitting pair of black pants, which were in turn tucked into a pair of black boots. A black belt around his wait and a gold bracelet on his right wrist completed the look.
Clearing his throat, he raised one hand to knock. The other held a single rose, which was just a hair brighter than his shirt, and under that arm he had tucked a journal. After his knuckles rapped against the wood, he let his hand fall, shifting his weight from side to side.
Clearing his throat, he raised one hand to knock. The other held a single rose, which was just a hair brighter than his shirt, and under that arm he had tucked a journal. After his knuckles rapped against the wood, he let his hand fall, shifting his weight from side to side.
amun
