Early that spring, the old man died, quietly, in his sleep. The old woman seemed to lose her desire for life, and by the time planting season came along, she had passed away as well, leaving their only son into my care. The old woman asked me to stay and look after him, which seemed only fair and fitting after all they had done for me. Besides which, I had grown rather fond of him. We shared a great many things in common, other than our love of the dark. He had a great passion for music, both classical and common, he loved to pass hours by the fire while I read to him, and long walks beneath the moon. Ours was a deep, abiding friendship, not the hot passion of my love for Jesse, or the playful, gaming relationship I had shared with Joshua, but a calm, almost soothing bond.
He was approach
