Pripyat almost laughed out loud at her question. Are they mean? And yet he held down the snicker, because it was sardonic and scornful. Instead he answered in his mournful way, wishing she would ask of the very people he was constantly hiding himself from. “No, they aren’t mean.” His mother was perhaps the kindest woman that graced these lands and Jefferson wasn’t mean, despite his more thorny approach to life at times. “They are just sad.” Or rather they made him sad in their decay and as their body parts fell to pieces. Whether either of them mourned their losses as deeply as he did Pripyat had no idea, he hadn’t even tried to talk to them about it.
The pure woman, so white that Pripyat couldn’t think of another who had such a clean, bright coat, spoke of herself, but only for a moment or two before turning the questions back to him. Dully he nodded. Yes, he had been born here. Born and raised and perhaps he would never leave. Trying to force some excitement into his voice, his words came out more pathetically than he had intended. “Tell me about where you came from. Why did you leave?” Why did anyone leave their home? Often he thought of leaving his own, but part of him knew it would never come down to that. So long as his mother and father persisted in Phoenix Valley, so would he.
.malukigrass b {font-weight:bold; color:#494040; letter-spacing:1px;}
.malukigrassooctext {font-style:italic; color:#b94b20; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;}
.malukigrass p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;}
.malukigrass {margin:0 auto; width:400px; background-color:#E89879; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v90/c ... ptable.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #6B3C2A; padding: 0px 0px 45px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#b94b20; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;}
</style>[/html]