14th of Zi'da, Arc 718 Original Thread
"I remember the vultures. They picked my father off the floor as he died, his sun-dried corpse laying on the copper fields of wheat. Every little prick and scrap from his flesh; the eyeballs off the ground, the red meat that flowed from his innards. I remember them well, always, them and their avarice of hunger."
. . . wip.