Love mends even the broken parts
Loren was once again roaming the outskirts in search of the elusive herds of luxere. For once, Astra was not by his side: she’d decided that she’d gone looking for his wild kin a few times too many, and was staying home where it was warm and safe and comfortable. While he missed her presence, he couldn’t exactly blame her for wanting to get away from his voice:
”Bright morning stars are rising,
Bright morning stars are rising,
Bright morning stars are rising,
Day is-a breakin’ in my soul.”
It was untrained, but not terrible, a pleasant enough baritone. Sometimes, the herds of magical deer were attracted to it—as well as the pack of hay and apples he had on his back—but today was not one of those days. Still, he kept running through verses almost methodically, with very little enthusiasm.
”Bright morning stars are rising,
Bright morning stars are rising,
Bright morning stars are rising,
Day is-a breakin’ in my soul.”
It was untrained, but not terrible, a pleasant enough baritone. Sometimes, the herds of magical deer were attracted to it—as well as the pack of hay and apples he had on his back—but today was not one of those days. Still, he kept running through verses almost methodically, with very little enthusiasm.
loren
