KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
He tried to focus on the story as she began to carve in his back with the knife, but it seemed to him that her words jumped around without meaning. All he really knew was the white-laced edge of pain, washing over him again and again.
No sound issued from him. Somehow, the man even managed to keep the muscles around the wound relaxed. A mental trick taught by Straia, though he always wondered where she picked it up. Childbirth? Personal injuries? Loren's name jumped out at him, a point of familiarity that confused him. She knew Loren? Loren knew her? He should have understood, made the connection but -
The arrow was yanked out and it drew a muffled groan from his throat. Korbin swayed where he stood on his knees, darkness creeping in from the periphery of his vision. "Maybe focus... on healing," he croaked, quietly alarmed by the warm tide that started down his back.
Absurdly, he worried about the tattoo on his back. Would the wound mess up the inkwork? The old man would throttle him if Korbin ruined his work.
No sound issued from him. Somehow, the man even managed to keep the muscles around the wound relaxed. A mental trick taught by Straia, though he always wondered where she picked it up. Childbirth? Personal injuries? Loren's name jumped out at him, a point of familiarity that confused him. She knew Loren? Loren knew her? He should have understood, made the connection but -
The arrow was yanked out and it drew a muffled groan from his throat. Korbin swayed where he stood on his knees, darkness creeping in from the periphery of his vision. "Maybe focus... on healing," he croaked, quietly alarmed by the warm tide that started down his back.
Absurdly, he worried about the tattoo on his back. Would the wound mess up the inkwork? The old man would throttle him if Korbin ruined his work.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
