![]() ![]() Richard’s house was very isolated a small village lived a few miles off, hidden by reaching firs, too insignificant for a train. Up ahead, atop one of the hills was Uncle Richard’s house, guided by blooming mirabelle trees and surrounded by forget-me-nots which bled down and around the hill. The drive continued on in silence, until the pushing trees were abruptly cut by the cloud-like hills of the countryside. “Close the window! The wind’s too loud,” Aleron said, hitting Laurent’s thigh. Laurent’s skin felt wrapped in gauze, so he cracked open his window, letting the air flood in. The drive was relatively short, but made longer by Aleron’s silence, which was occasionally broken by a sigh or a cough. The trees rush by, blurring together in clumps of green, broken intermittently with splotches of color from the wildflowers and tree blossoms. ![]()
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