A company of voices, each talking loudly over one another, traveled through the stagnant night air and into the opening high atop the keep. They came to rest inside the man’s ear as he sat at his table, reading patiently by the guttering light of a candle flame. Looking towards the open window with its high stone arch, he swept his pewter colored hair behind the offended ear and tilted his head to listen.
He had envisioned this very moment each day—a hundred times a day—and yet, now that it had arrived, it was all wrong somehow. It wasn’t long enough; he needed more time. The throng of voices was nearer now, moving like a leviathan through the narrow streets of the sleeping town. Why couldn’t the whole world be like this town? he thought.
His mind—that last companion—refused to be seduced by any naïvetés that they may pass him…
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