the time of your life (you just can't tell)

[Jefferson Soul]

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wc316 It was not until the tawny halfling turn and glanced at him that Jefferson felt a chill slide down his spine, only then noticing the frightening amount of scars that decorated the sad creature. His own scars and slashes were plentiful as well, but nowhere nearly as eerie as the stranger's. A rare glint of compassion flashed through his singular green eye, doubling when the opposite hybrid gazed his sightless eyes in his general direction. Jefferson swallowed hard, resisting all yearnings to sympathize with the creature so eerily like him. The scars, the eyes, the emaciation--it was all too real. Their scars spoke different tales, however; it was obvious that the blind hybrid had gone through a different kind of hell than he, but both had met equal opponents and felt the sting of hate and anger in their flesh. "Small world," he said calmly, rising onto his stiff limbs and gradually making his way to the sightless stranger. "Losing your sight is depressing by itself. I know." An ear twitched. Jefferson had walked these lands only a number of days, yet already his trails and and steps had changed. The rogue was still as antisocial and independent as before, but the amount of voices and faces that sent a twisting feeling to his stomach continuously grew and grew. The hybrid was slowly beginning to regret arriving there, but the sights and smells that called out to him constantly perked at memories he couldn't find and only stirred all the more curiosity within himself. His gimpy leg ached, his head spun. He calmly sat down beside the stranger, and stared out at the horizon. "Water's water. Like hell if it ever changes." A pause. The winds shifted, redirecting the scents in the air. "You should find yourself somewhere to live. Life's hell in that condition on your own."

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