Northstar Vale sand willow

he is your age,

a whisper, despite the suddenness he said it with. a delicate look in his eyes. failure.

he was used to leading others, a shepherd with his flock, but never had he lost his own son. God had though, hadn't he? although it had been knowingly, sent with reason.

bartholomew could not compare himself to such a holy image.

i fear that perhaps he has gone back home — or grown tired of his father.

his features cracked with a weak smile.

does the vale treat you well?

a sudden switch, desperate for relief.