KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Dusk blue met steel gray, and Korbin held the gaze of the other man, weighing the words. Tried to discern whether that was the actual truth, or if he was right about the many hooks and catches that seemed to lurk in the shadows. But he had meant it, when he said he didn't trust words. So whether or not to believe in this supposed hands-off-attachment was a matter of time, really.
"So you keep saying." Korbin turned away. The distrust remained, but at least the worst of the hostility was gone. Tucked safely back under wraps, replaced by a profound disinterest that extended to the foreign language the man used to talk to his pet. Some Outlander speak that made no sense at all.
A few loose corks had been left in one of the crates before it was packed. Korbin fished them out, and juggled them casually in one hand as he went to return it, hands restless as his thoughts, for all that the expression was impassive.
"So you keep saying." Korbin turned away. The distrust remained, but at least the worst of the hostility was gone. Tucked safely back under wraps, replaced by a profound disinterest that extended to the foreign language the man used to talk to his pet. Some Outlander speak that made no sense at all.
A few loose corks had been left in one of the crates before it was packed. Korbin fished them out, and juggled them casually in one hand as he went to return it, hands restless as his thoughts, for all that the expression was impassive.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
