I sat by the window of the small cottage. The breeze flowing in caused the pages of the book I was reading to flutter. My leg held the book up while the other spread across the other chair.
The book wasn't interesting but the weather was just right so I couldn't let this moment slip past me. I've lost count on how many times I've spaced out that I'd given up reading so much that I've begun to simply watch as nature played outside.
The front door opened, and Alastair walked in. I jumped from my chair, startled that he was home so soon. Wounds ran from his chest down to the ripped clothes on his abdomen. It looked like a messy job. At least, messier than usual.
