KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Create? That sounded like something he'd heard before. Korbin felt the urge to curl up into a ball, physically protect himself against the idea and everything that seemed to follow with it of implications... but he forced himself to resist. To remain sprawled out in the sand, and keep absorbing all these uncomfortable new notions.
He could always see it as punishment for his crimes. Some small attempt to attone for what he'd done.
"Maybe," he conceded. It was hardly a vow, but not a flat out rejection of the idea either. Korbin thought of his lute, of the times he sang to his sister, to their friends. It was true that those were his happiest moments. "Too bad there's not much room for that in Halo."
Not his kind of creations, at least.
He could always see it as punishment for his crimes. Some small attempt to attone for what he'd done.
"Maybe," he conceded. It was hardly a vow, but not a flat out rejection of the idea either. Korbin thought of his lute, of the times he sang to his sister, to their friends. It was true that those were his happiest moments. "Too bad there's not much room for that in Halo."
Not his kind of creations, at least.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
