Lost Creek Hollow the days are muted

Surely she was an angel – her beauty would certainly indicate as such, but Pippin was a wary creature who’s trust could not extend past his parents and siblings – and even that had waned in the days of his rogue traveling. His lips pursed, his bright eyes studying her with blank morose. “I have n-n-o pur-p-p-ose,” he painfully uttered, a shiver coursing his spine as hunger sent a gnawing ache through his stomach. Gone were the days of true hunger—his body was but withering away now, awaiting death.