It looks like I posted about abortion after all.
I meant to lead up to it, but then I seemed to strike the right vein, and just kept going with it.
I thought it went well.
Going to be far busier than I had imagined. The money will be proportionally good. No. Exponentially good. I'm looking at 68 hours next week.
I'm mostly using this space now because I think I came up with an ending for "sorrow" and I wanted to get it down without too much distraction.
Fred was losing focus. His perspective had slowly been drifting from a subjective bystander to an objective one. He no longer sensed the wind on his skin or rustling his hair, but he felt the wind. It pushed at him playfully; he could sway gently with it, but never yeild. He sensed the sustaining earth beneath him and the airy sky above - and at the same time the world was fading from his eyes. He realised that the pain was subsiding, and then the memory of his wounds was gone.
He heard a noise. Sobbing? He looked/felt/sniffed around and detected a figure huddled against the trunk of a tree. It was Morgaine. And Fred was the tree. That puzzled him for a moment. She was caressing the tree and calling his name. He thought he should say something but found no voice, only the rustle of his leaves in the wind and the creaking of his branches.
Fred had a last fleeting memory of holding her in his arms. He thought he should do that now... before that memory fades as well. Then he found he had no arms to reach for her with. He had only branches now, and they could grasp only at the sky.
A breeze sighed through helpless branches.