Chapter Seventeen

Before he’d lost his spleen in the first beating on Barumi, Arrin had rarely been ill, and when he was, he’d always recovered in no more than one day. For the past week, however, he’d suffered a constant severe headache, nausea and general aches that wouldn’t go away. In the hope some fresh air might help ease at least some of his symptoms he’d asked permission of Tom to go outside.

He sat on the top step of his front porch with Tom beside him, trying to enjoy the crisp, fall air, but the accompanying aroma of dried leaves, usually appreciated, increased his nausea today. He watched a stiff wind rip leaves from the trees and compared it to how parts of him had been ripped away by the bitter winds of misfortune until now there was nothing left i...

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