THE KING IN THE NORTH

55

The slight warmth of the season was eventually gone.

There came the cold wave. Vocally but promising of a harsh downtime.

Men worked harder, logging trees and making domicile. The retainers reject and washed linens to last the cold wave. Fireplaces were moulded again on the hallways and corridors.

The old bones brought to live with coal and timber.

The candles were made bigger and meat dried with the last memorial of sun.

The manor house was alive with conditioning.

But his heart was a bit far from living.

The child had yet to leave her chamber. Days and nights had passed and counted down to four and twenty. She noway came out.

Every day he'd pipped and everyday he'd seen the same thing. A pale child on her bed. gaping into oblivion.

He'd allowed her strong. Had seen a fire not fluently banged out.

Oh had he been wrong? Was she too weak to be alive again?

Her reason for fighting was gone. Everyone had a weakness.

He'd read like as everything.

A Napoleon, a bachelorette,