The Sun began its journey to the west, splashing the splendid hues of pink and purple in the boundless sky. Flocks of birds chirped their way back home where their little ones were waiting for all day.
The sombreness that befell the Broughton refused to fade away. The group of friends sat at their usual place- under a tree where they had lined up large rocks to sit when they were young kids.
The silence was prickling, gnawing at their conscience. Something was wrong but they couldn't find it out. And that bothered all of them a lot, including Corbin.
He checked the old woman's hands to see all her fingers intact. Corbin didn't understand if he should feel relieved or distressed.
But one thing he couldn't deny was that he too was shaken by Finn's mother's death just like everyone else. No matter how she treated Sylvia, Corbin couldn't find any hatred for the woman in his heart.
