San Diego, USA
Mahone covers his head with the black hoodie, then steps briskly to the small house. He sniffs, the irritating heat of the sun causing him fever. He's not so sure of that, but he can feel it, his head is light-weighted, everything he sees, seems blunt and bright.
He climbs the stairs and rings the bell three times, the first two was quick, the last one was differently long. Actually it was a code, but who knows if his friend still remembers it.
The door opens fast.
An innocent looking boy, has thin beard at his jaw, wearing loafers, is standing at the doorsteps, watching Mahone suspiciously.
"Assalamu Alaikum," he finally greets him in Arabic. "How can I help you, Mister?"
Mahone removes his black sunglasses, then smiles at him, "Lays alyawm, Musa."
Musa stares at him in disb
San Francisco, USASeptember, 2016 Mahone tightens the knot of his black tie around his neck, then fixes the collar of his coat. Actually, suit-coat always makes him feeling uneasy, but since it's a mourning day, he can't go there with his usual outfits. It has been three days since Garrett Greenham died. His daughter Samlin is sick, haven't waken up from coma yet in hospital, it was obvious that she would have a nervous breakdown again. Her mother was devastated after seeing them, she still is. The Greenham family has already declared the news of his death in the mass media, said the cause was an unknown assailant's gunshot. The police and detectives are investigating the case, but it's useless. Lynn and Mahone clearly saw who did that and the cops won't do anything about that, because The Conditorem always controls them. Since this two brothers
Somebody is brushing hairs from my forehead. Then nudging my shoulder."Sam, wake up," a voice tells softly.A Male voice.I am feeling confused. There's no male person in our home. Then who is it?I try to open my eyes, but can't, because sunlight is hitting me. Who the hell opened the damn curtains of the damn window?I raise my hands to cover my eyes, but something is in them. Something muddy.Wait...I'm not in home, am I?"Sam," that voice tells again.I snap my eyes open.A strong face welcomes me.I adjust myself in a seated position, glancing around. Who is this guy?Shit!I fell asleep on the mountain top.All the night.I squint at the sunlight, not feelin
"Ah...."Celandine observed the man curiously who just came out from the chamber, going downstairs. She noticed the small hand batch on his black robe, wondering what that might be meaning.Suddenly everything around her changed.They traveled dawn to dusk, past woods and orchards and neatly tended fields, through small villages, crowded market towns, and stout holdfasts. Come dark, they would make camp and eat by the light of the moon and the lamps. The men took turns standing watch. Celandine would glimpse firelight flickeringthrough the trees from the camps of other travelers. There seemed to be more camps every night, and more traffic on the kingsroad by day.She somehow knew it was a dream.Morning, noon, and night they came, old folks and little children, big men and small ones, barefo
His head ached. His senses were strangely dulled; a peculiar lethargy assailed every bone and muscle in his body.Mathios rolled onto his back and sought to recall where he was. Eventually he was forced to resort to prising his eyelids apart in order to survey his surroundings and settle that pressing question. He managed to focus on the rough beams that supported the roof of the shelter, but this was not his longhouse. There were none of the familiar scents that pervaded his home—the aroma of baking bread or the smell of madder boiling over the fire to make dye. His stepmother’s cheerful chatter was absent also. Instead he was surrounded by silence, broken only by the occasional snuffle or snore. He turned his head to the right. Vikarr lay sound asleep not a foot from him. To his left he spied Ivar, just starting to stir.&ldq