Lonely shadows following me
Lonely ghosts come a-calling
Lonely ghosts come a-calling
Rumors had a way of spreading, in a small town where idleness was forced on people. There was little else to do for many but talk, and in the evening wagging tongues spread the latest news with equal parts pity and pleasure. By now, everyone knew that the new Warden was dead. Their Warden, their Weaver. The Hale girl, who had gone through so much. And now her brother was all alone, and had lost it. Gone snow crazed and burned down the family house. Almost burned in himself, but was saved at the last moment.
Of course, no one talked about it where he could hear. But conversations hushed whenever he appeared, and Korbin felt their eyes on him wherever he went.
He was being watched. Maybe it was Loren's doing or some unspoken agreement of the villagers, but there was always someone around. And if he went outside, one or two discreet shadows trailed after. To keep him from doing anything stupid, perhaps, or maybe from genuine concern. Once, not so long ago, he had loved these people for the solidarity.
Now, Korbin hated it. All of it. The looking, the talking, the way every voice grew soft and tender when addressing him, the pity in their eyes. He hated that they kept him 'safe', and loathed every breath he breathed. No longer did he run around with firewood and blankets, nail roofs or distribute food. From being everywhere and doing everything he had gone to doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. The expression on his face was dull and listless, his clothes unwashed, face haggard and sleepdeprived.
Stalking aimlessly through the town, he showed utter disregard for the cold, with far too little clothes on for the bitter temperature. The hair was singed by fire and uneven, the dark leather coat too thin and tattered, burned as well... Ice was settling in his hair and on the clothes, but Korbin didn't care if he was frostbitten. His gaze passed over Chulane when the man caught up to him with the wheelbarrel, but there was no real spark of recognition. He just stopped to let him pass, without saying anything.
Of course, no one talked about it where he could hear. But conversations hushed whenever he appeared, and Korbin felt their eyes on him wherever he went.
He was being watched. Maybe it was Loren's doing or some unspoken agreement of the villagers, but there was always someone around. And if he went outside, one or two discreet shadows trailed after. To keep him from doing anything stupid, perhaps, or maybe from genuine concern. Once, not so long ago, he had loved these people for the solidarity.
Now, Korbin hated it. All of it. The looking, the talking, the way every voice grew soft and tender when addressing him, the pity in their eyes. He hated that they kept him 'safe', and loathed every breath he breathed. No longer did he run around with firewood and blankets, nail roofs or distribute food. From being everywhere and doing everything he had gone to doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. The expression on his face was dull and listless, his clothes unwashed, face haggard and sleepdeprived.
Stalking aimlessly through the town, he showed utter disregard for the cold, with far too little clothes on for the bitter temperature. The hair was singed by fire and uneven, the dark leather coat too thin and tattered, burned as well... Ice was settling in his hair and on the clothes, but Korbin didn't care if he was frostbitten. His gaze passed over Chulane when the man caught up to him with the wheelbarrel, but there was no real spark of recognition. He just stopped to let him pass, without saying anything.
Thousand voices dead at my feet
Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone
Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone
