Anthine was soon upon the place where parting trees gave up for the dwelling of the man called Amar. The home was most humble, if ever such a dwelling could be called thus. Built from sturdy logs and stout boulders, Anthine couldn’t help but think that the woods itself had crafted the abode for Amar.
The house was built at the upper end of a gentle hill topped by stone like a misshapen crown. To the side was the paddock for the sleeping herd, the family of wooly creatures sleeping soundly and freely about, as if with absolute faith in the care of their master. From a hollowed tree at the home’s center rolled a lazy smoke, and from a small window glowed a cozy, orange light. Continue reading “Amaranthine – Part 2: The House of Amar”