The importance of memories
#6
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The woman seemed so introspective, not that Lannen found that out of place at this moment. He felt a hush in his soul, too. It was a labor to speak around the silence that ruled here, like a gentle sovereign. He found that his usually sonorous voice came out as a gravelly whisper. It was odd to hear the sound of his voice so quiet when it usually rang inside his head. But he found that it came naturally to be quiet here.

The white wolf nodded as Mew introduced herself, his eyes sweeping over the mounds of dirt in the ground. It jolted his memory, a vaguely familiar feeling washing over him. And he remembered, a day cold and cloudless at the end of last spring. "I didn't understand when I did it either," he said. His wooden brown eyes shifted back to the white wolfess. "I buried my sister last spring."

His voice wasn't sad so much as thoughtful, almost lost. He hadn't thought on his sister in months. Of course, memories had passed through his mind, but he had not dwelt on that specific part of her life. He wanted to remember her as alive, vibrant, trickery and energy shining in her gray eyes. Lannen spread his hands and shrugged. "It doesn't make much sense to me, but it seemed to be the right thing to do."
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