Sorry. Long forgotten Mistrust. Betrayel. Echoing in his shackled heart. He knew not why his legs of endless merit drew him to this door, as his mind still ached for Yew and abandoned squirrel infested Oak.


He came with no expression. No admission. A silence and a removal of his hat. Hair was sopping, smeared across his features-boney, delicate, gravely beautiful. He mirrored the ageing walls of archaic chapels in stone and granite, by hillside gradiants in a land he once visited. He was as cold and alarming a figure, waiting for nothing. But surely something etched across his heart to lead him back here.

Unfinished work.


He rapped his knuckles against the door, three times. Then placed each long, grey hand within his deep pockets, and taking a breath and expelling a sigh...

He waited.