"I don't understand what you're talking about. Are you saying I died? I am dead?" Angela was breaking her voice into scattered pieces. He was buried in a deep chasm in his spirit, he didn't seem to believe what Frey had taught him.
The girl gently sat down on the wooden chair on the veranda of the small Canteen led by an old man who had stumbled upon the place hundreds of years ago. The old man named Carmelo was an Indian who's body had thrown into a river and can't still be recovered. A river that he couldn't even remember which side or direction.
"Excuse me for my colleague's rashness," said Amaris and then looked at me. Their eyes tells me how clumsy I am in my actions and words. Her gaze is giving me a lesson that next time I need to learn firsy what my mouth is going to say to avoid any kind of disaster.
