Hoshor Plains [m] the tortured poets department

“Sure,” he hummed—not at all eager to put aside the thoughts of an outside party. His mother was not exactly an impartial audience—nor was anyone else he could confide in.

It felt lonely, in many aspects.

The wind held a cold chill to it—but the sun above held a hint of warmth.

For the first time in awhile, he felt the stirrings of promise in the graze of the suns rays.