Wheeling Gull Isle skaiflaya

He shivered as the moss was laid over his head.

Abandoned my duty. He whispered with his eyes closed, one squeezed shut and the other’s lid barely falling over it.

All to seek stupid glory. As if him killing the cat would bring home his mother, would drive his father from the woman he married in her stead, would knit his family together piece by piece until they could fill the heart shaped hole in his chest.

He felt the hitch in his breath.

He would not cry. No matter how much he wanted to, or how much of a boy he was, he would not cry.