It looked cold out anyway. Snow blanketed the hills around Darrowshire and the wind amounted to a low moan as it pushed through the skeletons of the ruined homes. Errol thought about how the snow covered wrecks looked so much like the headstones in the small graveyard he still sat in. His hands were moving, but not to keep warm. “So much work to do” he would occasionally mutter as he kept about his business.
He still thought about her. Even now, so close to winter veil, his thoughts would linger on the smell of the lock of hair in his coat pocket and her peculiar little vocal fry. She always sounded angry, even when he knew she really wasn’t.
The specters of this place didn’t fight anymore. They sat quietly around Errol in circle, watching as he dropped another knife in front of Las’ grave. His back covered in snow; he pulled out another and began sharpening it.
“So much work to do”