Summer 1992 – Days of Scattered Dust

Boralis extended a hand – a paw – in greetings. I gingerly took it. As if understanding my suspicions he did not grasp my hand, he merely folded his fingers briefly around it. He said, “It is good to see you, Rose.” 

“What do you want Boralis?” I asked. I could hear acid in my tones. I did not care.

“Is your father well?”

“What do you want?” I repeated.

He nodded slowly, as if he understood something that I did not. He said, “You have not seen him in decades then?” 

I folded my arms and said nothing. Boralis may have once helped my father rule a kingdom but that was centuries ago. His more recent attempt on my life had far more significance to me. 


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