Poor man's sorrow (c)
Mar 10, 2015 23:49:01 GMT -5
Post by East on Mar 10, 2015 23:49:01 GMT -5
NOTHING IS LOUDER TO GOD'S EARS
The moon peaked in advance of the evening, a pale crest in the cerulean sky. The rain had stopped in the last mile home and had taken with it dirt and blood that ran in maroon streaks down the dirtied tan of his legs. The dried filth turned wet to drip into the trodden slush. It washed away what it could.
Lamora had been buried nearly a week ago. Maybe longer, maybe less, Thorne hadn't been devoted to counting the rise and fall of the sun. He'd not done much at all, save for realign his thoughts. The officer had needed to be alone, rekindling his affinity with the wild where his sole company was the sing song of birds and the rustle of wind through the leaves. It was peaceful. It reminded him of what used to be home, as bittersweet the memory was, but it was no longer. There were those that were waiting for him; it was time to go back and return to his family. Thorne thought he had come to understand what that meant before, but it was only now that he truly knew.
The coydog reached the mansion without being intercepted, of which he was grateful. The foyer was empty and he reached the stairs, his gait strained to keep his injured shoulder appeased. There wasn't a part of that didn't hurt, be it bruises, wounds or the ache of exhaustion. Thorne's skull throbbed atop of it all and he longed to sleep. Each step struck sharpness behind his eyes but he reached the second floor and crept into the room Jones frequented. It was empty when he walked in and poorly lit as daylight quickly faded. Rather than try and declare his arrival to someone Thorne slowly ventured in, heading towards the wall on the far side of the room where he stiffly took his seat with a mild grimace. There the rugged male would wait for as long as it took, almost unnoticeable as with passing time the shadows would increase to layer across wherever the light couldn't reach, including him.THAN A POOR MAN'S SORROW