The statue (Talia, p. 68)

She walks through her field, snow is falling lightly, but barely sticking to the ground. It is colder than she expected. She pays no attention to where she is walking, focusing instead on the flakes drifting on the air above her, a serene smile upon her face. At the top of a rise she comes to a stop. There ahead of her, on a stone pedestal, stands an intricately carved stone figure. The red stone is smooth, the robes so detailed that they look as if they would be soft to the touch. The figure is helmed, but it is with a certainty that she knows whom this represents.

A familiar hand on her shoulder gives her a squeeze. “He can no longer hurt you.”

“Others will not be so comforted by his passing.”

“They should not concern you.”

“One is a friend.” Sadness creeps into her voice. “The other… is still one to be wary of.”

“Do not worry, I am here with you.”  The arms slide around, cradling her in a gentle hug. They stand there, together, as the snow falls, and it begins to collect on those broad stone shoulders.


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