I had to part ways with the old hunter Charles, having an early eight.
He had wanted to chase after the other, but he was left behind, following barefoot for a while before completely losing sight of the other around a corner.
The maze-like architectural style of the Fox Hole was bizarre, with roads laid out in fear of someone discerning direction, towering city walls that sporadically obstructed the line of sight, and similar building styles that were like a series of incomprehensible puzzles, jumbling in the mind.
Dusk was falling, and he carried a fire torch as if holding the last ray of the sunset in his hand.
The darkness gradually deepened, and the light from the torch was so slender that it was the first time he had thought of a flame as slender.
The light, thread by thread, as sharp as needles, pierced the ground, scattering the shadows and casting his own shadow long and sharp.
