that was pointlesss. we could have stayed strangers
Pomp and swagger, wrapped in feathers. Footprints tipped with claws that fade with each crash of waves against the shore. He's back, warmed by the Torchline sands and cooled by the Deepfrost gales that have carried him here.
Arsen walks, watched by eyes much sharper than most. He's tracked and weighed and judged and measured - his fate was decided back on his first day in Torchline, not that he could have known it back then.
He is already dead even before the sack is drawn tight over his head. Before he's struck hard, before he's dragged away, before events unfold as they always would.
He is dead long, long before he stops breathing.
Arsen walks, watched by eyes much sharper than most. He's tracked and weighed and judged and measured - his fate was decided back on his first day in Torchline, not that he could have known it back then.
He is already dead even before the sack is drawn tight over his head. Before he's struck hard, before he's dragged away, before events unfold as they always would.
He is dead long, long before he stops breathing.
Arsen
