Dying Ember

A New World

   And then he spoke. He filled my head with wonderful words - words of another world, a world where it was just us. Not just us as in just me and him. He seemed to imply that it was a world where every man spoke to fire, coaxed it, played with it, cherished it. The fact that he used the world "us" seemed to tell me that he had it,  too. That he had the wonderful life - changing gift . The gift of fire. As he spoke, I found the great need to be there, to visit this place . To feel the fairies pulling my hair - trying to scavage my black locks for their nests. I wanted to hear the Night - Mares howling at dusk and watch the Black Prince and his bear converse with the strolling players beside the fire. I wanted to elbow my way through the streets of Ombra on a market day and watch the Adderhead's silver ramparts gleam in the full moon's eye. That was what I wanted. I didn't want this foreign world, with all of it's noise, filth, and stereotypical people. I wanted the world where he came from. I wanted him.

   Only when he stopped talking did realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was out here with him. It was the middle of the night and my mom had no idea where I was.