The true costs of an ageless conflict begin to show around the seems, as circling enemies press upon weary travelers. “Zale?” Nanamni perked up sleepily from the couch. An array of game pieces still occupied the floor. He was staring at the open front door. “Sorry,” he said, and closed it. “Did you meet the man that was looking for you?” She sat up, stretched, and gave him a look she did most evenings. The sort of look that could make a man feel very good about himself, if he had illusions it was truly about him.
About The Author
Author, artist, programer, possible anachronistic fuzzy black kitten at the end of the universe - forging sprawling worlds of mercurial myth and mundane majesty.
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