Lonely shadows following me
Lonely ghosts come a-calling
Lonely ghosts come a-calling
His hand had been moving swiftly, with purpose and intent. The sharp edge of the blade bit into his skin, carved a red line of agony against the pale throat. Meant to cut deep, sever arteries, spill forth lifeblood until he was no more. Only another name offered to the wind.
But he was not permitted. Korbin never saw where Loren came from, but the Healer's grip on his arm halted the path of the dagger before it became more than a shallow cut. And then the blood-stained knife was wrested from his grip, and Korbin was left to stare numbly at Kiada. Her eyes were hard, the words clipped as she washed her hands of him.
The satisfaction of having finally driven her away never came. She turned and left, blurring into the vulture he had never quite gotten a chance to look at properly, and all Korbin felt was that vague sense of shame. Like he had let someone down. Weaver perhaps, or himself.
Or maybe the man that just saved his life, for the third time. What a thankless job.
"You really can't leave it alone, can you," Korbin muttered to Loren, and tried to pull his arm free. He couldn't bring himself to look up; warm wetness trickled slowly down his neck, but he made no move to wipe it away.
But he was not permitted. Korbin never saw where Loren came from, but the Healer's grip on his arm halted the path of the dagger before it became more than a shallow cut. And then the blood-stained knife was wrested from his grip, and Korbin was left to stare numbly at Kiada. Her eyes were hard, the words clipped as she washed her hands of him.
The satisfaction of having finally driven her away never came. She turned and left, blurring into the vulture he had never quite gotten a chance to look at properly, and all Korbin felt was that vague sense of shame. Like he had let someone down. Weaver perhaps, or himself.
Or maybe the man that just saved his life, for the third time. What a thankless job.
"You really can't leave it alone, can you," Korbin muttered to Loren, and tried to pull his arm free. He couldn't bring himself to look up; warm wetness trickled slowly down his neck, but he made no move to wipe it away.
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
