Alistair peered at a cloud, separated from its billow by miles and lands. Possibly, a fleeting gale could restore its rift, or just death, the change of life, could allow the bare pieces to unite.
They might be reborn as seawater coursing in endless blues, or as stray vapour hovering over a marsh, or live as mud still and silent within in an endless depthless mire.
"Too many mistakes in this short life, way too many mistakes." He rasped and touched the glass. "Less time to learn, just chances to rectify the errors."
He closed the windows, bolted the locks, and swiped the blinds. The room lost light. A scented candle illuminated.
"Destroy what creates mistakes." Alistair marched to a shelf, searching and tousling before gripping a book. "And leave no regrets."
He sat and scoured the pages; written on the first line was a name in italics... Ragnör, the Man-eater.
