Like a newborn pup fumbling for its legs, Cain staggered across the chamber, his limbs betraying him at every step. His slave scrambled to steady him, her small hands pressing at his side, but her strength was no match for the weight of his ruin. He waved her off at last, breath ragged, and pointed toward the cane lying abandoned near the wall. She darted to fetch it without a word, returning it to him at last.
Blake sat on the edge of his bed, saying nothing, only watching. His face carved from stone. Inside, though, the old hag's words echoed like a curse, unwanted.
Lost in the dark, feet unsteady, destined to collapse at last by his own failed grip.
The cane steadied him, barely, but the golden pendant at his throat swung wildly with each motion. The trinket caught the light, flashing reminders of what their father had once believed in.
Every brother had one.
