Erramun shifted on his knees but didn’t stand. He didn’t look at her, didn’t move to touch the ink. He seemed to be staring off into space.
Senga walked around behind him and brushed a feather-light touch over his shoulders.
He twitched and leaned forward, away from her touch. She moved her hands and moved back around in front of him.
His hands had come to clasp behind his back. His eyes looked blank. Senga frowned. “Errmun?”
“Yes, mistress?” His voice was rough and very quiet. He looked like he was holding himself forcibly still.
“Senga,” she corrected. “Erramun, what’s wrong?”
“Everything is fine… mistress.” His shoulders were tight. She wanted to touch him again, but it seemed like it was hurting him. Continue reading