World Fire

Salocer

Evening had arrived at the Laire estate, and the half-hidden sun that turned the clouds deep purples and oranges cast long shadows that stretched from the forests of the west far towards the estate. A vicious wind had picked up, sweeping at the grass and the forest, like a harbinger signalling for oncoming terror.

The clouds that had come from the east earlier, that talked of storms, were fast approaching. A light curtain of rain pounded at the roof of the estate, and Locke, who guarded the door of the loungeroom, found great comfort in listening to it. He had stood there for hours.

A servant stepped up to door, a dumb look in his eyes. ‘You can’t enter here,’ Locke said, stepping in front of the door.

‘Huh?’ the servant raised an eyebrow.

‘I said you can’t enter here.’

The servant raised a feather duster. ‘I need to clean.’

‘Clean some other day. You can’t enter here.’ Is this guy stupid?