Page 100 of The Last One
“To remembering,” Veril toasts.
“To me,” I toast.
Just then, the front door opens, and Olivia and Philia burst into the room, all smiles and good cheer. Jadon, though, enters the cottage with a drawn face and slumped shoulders.
I don’t speak even though the sight of him makes me feel like I’m floating.
Jadon gapes at Veril and medrinkingtea by the fire, and then he spots the map on the worktable. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and says, “Where are we goingnow?”
PART III
Don’t Talk About It…
Be About It
Within the night’s soft fading glow,
His whispering rebukes woe
Until they stand where shadows wane,
He matches death with somber bane.
Hear the echoes of closing breath,
A spell for life, away from death.
In arms of twilight, where spirits sigh,
Near the end, where dreams may fly.
Into veiled mists of sublime plain,
He serenades without strain.
Loving life, he holds secrets dear.
He ignores Fate and ignores Fear.
Hear the echoes of closing breath,
A spell for life, away from death.
His fate is waiting, he cannot run
An end he loathes, his life done.
Beneath dark halls where future dwells,
Men invocate, ringing bells,
Hoping gods will hear plaintive cries
To hold back wrongs that puncture eyes.
Callow, crude, their hearts falter fast.
Their evilness demands vast
