Now, he opens his eyes. Light flows in from the window, causing his amber eyes to shine. He lies perfectly still. The room is silent. Slowly, he lets out a breath. With the sound of rustling sheets he sits up and lets his feet fall to the floor. Again he is still, staring through the boards of his floor into empty space. Guided more by habit than any other force, he stands and steps through the curtain to the rest of their house.
It's eerily still. Every morning for as long as he can remember, he has awoken to activity – his mother preparing their morning meal, his father coming in from the work he's already done, the two of them talking to one another, their voices always soft, always loving. The room is empty now. Faced with the choice of either weeping again or finding himself breakfast, Asher begins searching the room. He finds half a loaf of bread from the day before and a few drying dates, but little else. He crosses the room to the larder, pulls open the door, and halts. A surprised gasp escapes his throat.
In the cupboard, pressed up against the far corner, a girl stares back at him.
YOU ARE READING
The Unending Epic Written to Appease a Friend, Tell a Tale, an...
FantasyEach day, the story grows. The tale begins when two lives are suddenly and irrevocably twined together, and a boy from a lonely farm and a girl without a people find themselves each other's only friend. Little by little the fabric of their lives wea...
