[Maybe a ghost, maybe just a queasy-looking boy in scuffed leathers, boots with smears of mud. Can't be more than twenty, maybe twenty-one. Voice like a candle in a room that only looks empty.]
Lights to lead travellers home, signals to show the way. Sometimes a warning, sometimes faint in the fog. They're there to help.
[Black crescent of a nail caked with dirt presses into the leaf, then turns over so he can look at it. Presses again, smears...]
no subject
[Maybe a ghost, maybe just a queasy-looking boy in scuffed leathers, boots with smears of mud. Can't be more than twenty, maybe twenty-one. Voice like a candle in a room that only looks empty.]
Lights to lead travellers home, signals to show the way. Sometimes a warning, sometimes faint in the fog. They're there to help.
[Black crescent of a nail caked with dirt presses into the leaf, then turns over so he can look at it. Presses again, smears...]