bound for flames
#4
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     “I didn’t,” he offered, half-glancing over his shoulder. “You tend to pick things up along the way though, da?” A laugh broke from his throat, though he didn’t know why he was laughing. Shrugging slightly, he lifted both palms. The right, still bearing an ages-old scar, moved and touched his temple smartly, while the left gestured to nowhere in particular. “Poe gave it to me in exchange for a viola.” That was half true, at least.
     Brushing the back of his hand against his side again, worried she might spot the discolored smudge and recognize it for what it was, he kept talking. “I’m not that good. Can’t play it so long with my arms the way they are.” He couldn’t do much for very long with his arms as bad as they were. It was getting worse with the cold. “You headed anywhere in particular?”





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