18
George wore a mask of cold stoicism, the occasional tear running down his face was the only clue to his true emotion. He was angry yes, and a hatred was growing inside of him, but fear was also at the top of the list. Not of Aesa specifically, but of what might come.
He still felt the pain of the Hunter's stone in his hand, but he had become used to it and now it was just a small throbbing traveling up his arm, like a parasite that had nested inside his palm. The pain had lessened but his revulsion had not. He thought he might soon have to cut off his arm to be rid of it. He was afraid, however, that if he had not completed his task, Aesa would simply embed it in his other hand. Then even if he retrieved his pipes, he would never play them again.
Whenever the whimpers of the bo
