Egfor stared mindlessly at the floor, sweeping. He pauses, suddenly realizing he has been sweeping this one spot for fifteen minutes. Agitated, he tosses the broom into the corner, wincing as it slides down and clatters onto the floor. Egfor walked over to the fire, starting to brew some coffee. He pulls his robe tighter around himself as he stares into the fire.
His thoughts drifted to Syllea. Why could she not understand the fear he felt? That he trusted her entirely, but he does not trust men. Never has, never will. It is so easy for men to manipulate the minds of the young.
“Anger and hate are not the same thing. She will be over it by tomorrow.” Egfor recalled Dem’s words, furrowing his brow. He utterly disagreed. Especially after the way she was glaring at Egfor.
He grabs a mug, pouring himself some coffee, sipping it slowly. He was fine being hated. She was more so Dem’s daughter than his anyway. He didn’t mind being the bad guy, so long as she was safe. The last thing he wanted to do was pick her up and nurse her wounds as some sort of sickening ‘I told you so.’
It is what it is, this too shall pass. He kept telling himself that, but wondered how much he still believed it.
He barely noticed when Dem came into the house, setting the pumpkin for sinner on the table. He did not notice either when Dem wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his arms.
