Waking of Tuesday, March 7, 2017 ~ 5
It started to rain again. It
certainly rained a lot in this region.
I saw Garill running for cover from
the downpour, making for the campfire with its wok, which was situated beneath
a great pine tree with generously overhanging boughs.
I followed him.
We merely stood for a while in the
fire’s warmth as the rain rattled a treble din all around us.
Then Garill said, “I used to think
the old Calamity was ancient history, nothing to do with my life, but.... when
I think that my life is only possible because they fought tooth and nail for us....
Well it sort of brings a tear to my eye.... though that could just be the
rain....” He brought one hand toward his face.
I’m rather beginning to like this
Garill.
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