Reave the Just And Other Tales
“The years of training which had made him what he was despite his youth had not been taken from him. Everything else was gone. His birthplace and family, his friendships and allegiances, his possessions and memories—all had been swept aside. The faces of his masters and students had vanished from his mind. He could not have given an account of himself to save his life—or ours. Not even his name remained to him.
I was familiar with his plight. As was Isla. We had experienced it ourselves.
... The look of bereavement in his eyes did not augur well for him. It had settled firmly into the strained flesh at his temples and the new lines of his cheeks, causing him to appear almost painfully youthful and forlorn. He might have been a small boy who had grown so accustomed to blows he could not avoid that he had learned to flinch and duck his head reflexively.
Weariness clung to his limbs, burdened his shoulders. His ordeal had been immeasurably arduous.MoreLess
I was familiar with his plight. As was Isla. We had experienced it ourselves.
... The look of bereavement in his eyes did not augur well for him. It had settled firmly into the strained flesh at his temples and the new lines of his cheeks, causing him to appear almost painfully youthful and forlorn. He might have been a small boy who had grown so accustomed to blows he could not avoid that he had learned to flinch and duck his head reflexively.
Weariness clung to his limbs, burdened his shoulders. His ordeal had been immeasurably arduous.MoreLess
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