ezra adopts a quiet and stillness that befit an acolyte in the hallowed halls of sacrosanct ground; saintlike. the weight of grief that he feels: not just for himself but for his den mates and his mother, feels heavy. older than the three month old who bore it.
like it was a taste of something long ago forgotten, tucked away in the cobwebbed recesses of a darkened library corner.
he draws in a quiet breath as goldfinch is the first to react, gaze following her until she vanished out of sight.
like it was a taste of something long ago forgotten, tucked away in the cobwebbed recesses of a darkened library corner.
he draws in a quiet breath as goldfinch is the first to react, gaze following her until she vanished out of sight.
'cause dead men don't talk
buried under that hideaway
lone star brand i′m
burning it on my chest
buried under that hideaway
lone star brand i′m
burning it on my chest
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