Barrow Fields and all the world was devils

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on the fifth day -- or so he thought; he had quite lost count -- armand stretched himself beneath the cold light of an afternoon sun and went in search of some oddity to entertain himself. he wore a new winter ruff of auburn gold, and his eyes glinted like hard gems in a starve-hewn face. the vain child was proud of his new hips' hollows, the jut of his ribs against his pelt, the point of his ankles. these spelled beauty of him; the knobs of his spine when he laid down hurt him, and this pain brought satisfaction.
armand was slowly starving, and soon he would be dead. this, a thought which had once comforted him, now brought the boy a pure delight; he expended the energy he should use to hunt in pursuit of foolish things, and today he busied himself digging into the strange mounds, belting out an aria in his high clear voice as he looked for absolutely nothing in particular.[/tr][/td][/table]