Epilogue

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The weather had been kinder this year, hardly as cruel as the Winter's he'd remembered from his days in Greenwich. Touchreik crawled from his makeshift shelter as he had done many hundreds of times before. Smelling the wisp of smoke from the dying embers of the previous night's fire.

Standing lazily, he stretched and pulled his ragged overcoat close to him and walked to the precipice. The years spent out here had toughened him as a man and as a human being too. With no one and nothing to depend on, he'd learned to love this life on the outside. Far from the fears he held as a young man, there were no viruses or deadly creatures. There were smells that ignited the senses as well as food and shelter all around. After all these years he'd spent on the outside he felt native now. Healthy and well he stood strong, no viruses, germs or rampaging animals. There were sniffles and there were dangerous creatures, but he had learned and improved on his ancient skills. He had physically changed too, and despite his age, he'd gained muscle and felt more nimble. He was ready to set off again as he had done hundreds of times before, to walk with a single goal in mind. Before he'd rested last night, he'd seen her for the first time in years, his beloved Heathen, glowing like a crown on the horizon.

Heathen was less than two days walk now and he could soon reach the outer perimeter. From there he could make his way up to Greenwich.

He felt a shiver, perhaps the Spring wasn't quite here yet, but he placed a hand into his pocket and felt them once more. The ice-cold chill of the two elements known as 'Black-Star'. It always felt like having two ice cubes in his pocket, but that feeling had become reassuring. It was a feeling of hope.


Ϟ


Three nights later a boy rolled over in his half-sleep, unaware of what might have caused him to stir. It might just be his father again, appearing in his dreams as he often did. He would enter the room and stand in the darkness, watching over him. Lou dare not open his eyes on these occasions and sometimes felt his father stroke his forehead. If Lou wasn't disciplined, if he couldn't hold back then he would open his eyes and his father would always be gone. As if just a dream or figment of his imagination. This time it felt different, more physical and he didn't know why. He'd later recall it was the sound that made it different than all the other times. The tiniest clink as if two glasses may have touched. Still in a daze, he peered through the tiniest slit in his eyelids. He dare not fully open them, but he was there all right, a dark shadow against the shelves where he kept the mementoes of his father. After all these years he'd had the courage to peak in the hope this time might be different, the next day he knew it had been. In the coming years when he told the story, he'd be frustrated that he did nothing, hadn't recognised the sign.

The next day the two belts he'd been given by his father were gone. Lou would forever feel bitter at his father for failing to keep his promise to say goodbye before he left for good, but perhaps in a strange unfathomable way he did? Growing up he'd realise that maybe there was closure, because once the belts known as Black-Star were gone, then his father was finally gone too. 

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