It'd taken him an impressively long time to notice something weren't right with his reflection in the mirror when he shaved his face. The bizarre encounter with the man who wasn't a man out in the desert had been so long ago, yet day after day, year after year ever after his mean old mug remained the same. It irked him something awful at first, his own face utterly foreign to him in its familiarity, like looking at a stranger wearing his skin. Erron hadn't given the experience much thought until then, had chalked it up to having fallen prey to some sort of carnival trickery.
A series of panicked thoughts stirred feelings better left unexamined in the wake of the revelation that although his body had undergone an involuntary and irreversible change, change was still possible. Erron idly traced the gnarled knot of a love letter carved into his chest as Arthur gathered himself up and stretched his legs. "No," he muttered, momentarily lost in thought. "No, I reckon I can still die, just won't be a dodderin' senile old man when it happens."
The cabin was a damn sight warmer and more inviting than the last one they'd holed up in back in the mountains. It had been lovingly tended to and smelled strongly of herbs and wood smoke, the furnishings somewhat sparse and a little worn yet comfortable enough. Erron got the sense that Arthur had settled there like he belonged rather than a squatter on a dead man's property. They'd been friendly, after all, if his recollection served him. Curious, he wandered a while yet, observing the little ways Arthur seemed to live out his life in the place while he listened.
"You almost got yerself hitched?" Erron turned toward him with an approving albeit amused grin before finally depositing his things on the floor by the foot of the bed and taking a seat next to him. "All prim and proper-like in a church full up on folk who hate you," he drawled near enough to Arthur's ear for a conspiratorial whisper. "hopin' ain't none of 'em object so y'don't gotta beat the tar outta them in front of god?"
arthur and mary sittin' in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g
A series of panicked thoughts stirred feelings better left unexamined in the wake of the revelation that although his body had undergone an involuntary and irreversible change, change was still possible. Erron idly traced the gnarled knot of a love letter carved into his chest as Arthur gathered himself up and stretched his legs. "No," he muttered, momentarily lost in thought. "No, I reckon I can still die, just won't be a dodderin' senile old man when it happens."
The cabin was a damn sight warmer and more inviting than the last one they'd holed up in back in the mountains. It had been lovingly tended to and smelled strongly of herbs and wood smoke, the furnishings somewhat sparse and a little worn yet comfortable enough. Erron got the sense that Arthur had settled there like he belonged rather than a squatter on a dead man's property. They'd been friendly, after all, if his recollection served him. Curious, he wandered a while yet, observing the little ways Arthur seemed to live out his life in the place while he listened.
"You almost got yerself hitched?" Erron turned toward him with an approving albeit amused grin before finally depositing his things on the floor by the foot of the bed and taking a seat next to him. "All prim and proper-like in a church full up on folk who hate you," he drawled near enough to Arthur's ear for a conspiratorial whisper. "hopin' ain't none of 'em object so y'don't gotta beat the tar outta them in front of god?"