Lost Creek Hollow plurimi

Sit, his father commanded, and like the loyalest of hounds, he sat. Heavy, his haunches met the ground with a dull thump. His eyes went distant, far away from the moment he was in.

Eventually, his eye turned to his father, voice a rasp in a throat that did not want to speak.

Can you tell me more? Of where we come from? A desperate child’s want for stories, even if Aquillius tried his hardest to deny it.