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Here’s another installment of Burning Sky. The link below will bring to previous installments of the story.
They entered the clearing silently, her son carrying Old Tink, who couldn’t walk anymore. When he set her down on the rug by the fire, her eyes glittered like the blackest onyx, the eyes ever of a younger woman but wiser than the gods…at least that’s how I had felt as a child beneath her gaze.
“I dare’nt hope to see you again,” she said. Though her face was sunken and lined, her body weak, her voice and character remained strong. I stood and bowed to her, then kissed her hand. When she offered me her wrinkled cheek, I kissed that, too.
“I’m glad to see you.” I lit her pipe for her.
She puffed on it for a time, then reached into her capacious pockets, and pulled out a Tarot deck, worn and soft. “We must talk.”