I want him Father. Let me…
The half-spaces between waking and drifting where things sonorous and frightful came to murmur. Hours compressed. Umin slept.
Oh, the chime is ringling. Oh...
Awakening. To find the low, knotty-iron doorway wide and unhinged.
Umin glumly and suspiciously peers out into down-thick darkness, but for a distant pin-prick of soft-seeming fire that sets the vaulty black above to looming all the more profoundly, maliciously.
His motion towards the distant, gleaming signpost is practiced. The wary, cunning steps of a seasoned foot-pad.
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