Ekreas looked up from the tome he was engrossed in at the
sound of the door opening. Framed by the fading sunlight was a tired, dirty Juras.
Wordlessly, Ekreas ambled to his small table and pulled out a chair. Equally
silent, Juras dragged his feet through the door and slumped into the proffered
chair.
Ekreas went about the hut, preparing food and another
sleeping pallet. Once it was ready, he put a bowl of stew down on the table. He
didn’t say anything to Juras, knowing he would speak in his own time.
He finally spoke up, “You were right.”
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