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Date Posted: 07:45:42 05/25/02 Sat
Author: Huttser
Subject: (cont. from below) :.:Sense:.:

:.:Your father, young lady, your father? Oh by and by...I remember, of course. Indeed, there is much to say. A single though is chased from his mind, bearing the memory of Peter's return, and his companion's ill knowledge of the fact. No, telling her of such a fate would worsen her desire of finding him. What would he do then, to stop her? Ah, Satine...my stories of Old Pewter mgiht tickle your bones, or strive for your hope's demise. One instant, playing between intellect and instinct, I have wish to say something I should not. In another moment, there replaced with juvenile dicomfort. I am but a lost pup inside, my friend. Satine, perhaps it is best for I to say what I can, and try what I cannot. Your father, Satine, is still alive. I know it now, and will always know until the last breath passes from his lips....I knew your father, Satine. I know him still, but for all years gone, you may never recognize him... A faint twitch of his ears follows his speech, eyes glowering at the stone underfoot. Sheepish, aghast in his own world, though still fierce at soul and craving a way to explain the stories. Perhaps if the fellow watching us would kindly move out of hiding, so that I may feel more at comfort? At once, he tilts his head in the direction of the youth, Briar. Although his senses were nulled with, he knew when and where a soul appeared. He and his canine friend, if they would not mind, please. He continues to stare, inviting the pair without emotion. Welcoming was deserving for friends, and ignorance fit for fiends. He would soon see.:.:

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