throbbing light machine

Seeing the way the two heads, brown and white-pale, drifted together as the boys sat enjoying one last respite before the coming dark, Merriman knew that Will’s loves were braver, in their way, than his own, and he honored the spirit that paid its homage in spite of fate. That accepting grace was a challenge he had yet to master, his inclination still drifting to bitterness and inexorable grudge. Will hated not, but loved, and cared, and tried, and went on. In that, there was much he could learn from the young Old One who had once been his pupil, and Merriman was not too stiff-necked to deny the lesson.

They dropped the little saplings into the earth, tucking mulch up into mounds around them. “Crab-apple will be over there,” Bran said, gesturing, holding his map, “and pears go on the south side.”

“Not a very standard orchard,” the boy said, sounding curious.

“No more I mean it to be,” Bran answered.

They dropped the little saplings into the earth, tucking mulch up into mounds around them. “Crab-apple will be over there,” Bran said, gesturing, holding his map, “and pears go on the south side.”

“Not a very standard orchard,” the boy said, sounding curious.

“No more I mean it to be,” Bran answered.

They dropped the little saplings into the earth, tucking mulch up into mounds around them. “Crab-apple will be over there,” Bran said, gesturing, holding his map, “and pears go on the south side.”

“Not a very standard orchard,” the boy said, sounding curious.

“No more I mean it to be,” Bran answered.

They dropped the little saplings into the earth, tucking mulch up into mounds around them. “Crab-apple will be over there,” Bran said, gesturing, holding his map, “and pears go on the south side.”

“Not a very standard orchard,” the boy said, sounding curious.

“No more I mean it to be,” Bran answered.

They dropped the little saplings into the earth, tucking mulch up into mounds around them.

“Crab-apple will be over there,” Bran said, gesturing, holding his map, “and pears go on the south side.”

“Not a very standard orchard,” the boy said, sounding curious.

“No more I mean it to be,” Bran answered.

Whatever affair he was caught up in with Will Stanton, strange young man both stranger and intimate, possessor of secrets Bran had not known he’d ever had, it was not ended. Something of himself he had left in England; something of himself he had brought back. The name Pendragon: the very sea, frozen and still, seemed to be saying it over to him. Bran was listening, now. He was awake.

Whatever affair he was caught up in with Will Stanton, strange young man both stranger and intimate, possessor of secrets Bran had not known he’d ever had, it was not ended. Something of himself he had left in England; something of himself he had brought back. The name Pendragon: the very sea, frozen and still, seemed to be saying it over to him. Bran was listening, now. He was awake.

Whatever affair he was caught up in with Will Stanton, strange young man both stranger and intimate, possessor of secrets Bran had not known he’d ever had, it was not ended. Something of himself he had left in England; something of himself he had brought back. The name Pendragon: the very sea, frozen and still, seemed to be saying it over to him. Bran was listening, now. He was awake.

Whatever affair he was caught up in with Will Stanton, strange young man, both stranger and intimate, possessor of secrets Bran had not known he’d ever had, it was not ended. Something of himself he had left in England; and something of himself he had brought back, too. The name Pendragon: the very sea, frozen and still, seemed to be saying it over to him. Bran was listening, now. He was awake.