Samantha Davis

Oblivioni Traditae

Thaein shouldn’t have been at the cliffside. He was supposed to be back in the city by now, lying in the gutter, besotted. He’d had a long day of dragging prisoners, drunkards, and thieves around, and just wanted to drown out their yelling in a large pint of Myrtle’s honeyed ale. So why was he staring at a boy, no more than 12, lying on his stomach at the cliff’s edge? Though dirty and plain, his clothes were fine.