Winter 1843 – Brothers Bonded By Circumstance

Attison’s creation turned to face me. We each planted our feet upon sloping roof. I kept my balance with a spider’s touch. He dug his long fingers into the tiling. The wind caught his hair and made it dance. 

He said, “He accuses me of stealing his son? As if we are not both his progeny! As if he has not done ill upon us each! I liberated the boy. Louis asked me to free him. How could I refuse my brother?”