Welcome back Weekend Readers and Writers:
The bowman opened his eyes. Clear, dark blue-violet, though maybe sparkling with tears in the lamplight and snow on his eyelashes.
“It’s cold.” He sounded defeated.
“You must be used to a warmer place than this, then. Your name?” They stood in early winter cold, even late fall, but how would the man feel jawing with Meryk in a midwinter gale?
The bowman nodded assent. “Saith.”
“Did you eat today?”
“No. Have you a room? Shelter?” Saith spoke with an accent Meryk couldn’t place, but that didn’t surprise him as Meryk had misplaced most of his memory long ago.
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photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/dave_kr8/11649617694/”>David Kracht</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>