- Chapter 9 -
The Continuing Saga
©1999 brigit
The tired Ambassador let his broad shoulders droop; without witnesses, his face fell into the long shadows of too
much self-awareness. Eyes turned towards the gardens, gardens which he knew full well he could not save, he
allowed himself one imperceptible sigh.
A weary hand wiped away the sweat that gathered continually on his brow. Gods, he must be feverish. A low
breath caressed his ear. What? What was it saying to him? He shook his head wearily, brushing foolish fancy aside. No time to be giving way to fever-dreams.
He slipped a great bruin's hand into the inside pocket of his light summer cloak. It was still there, the ribbon from
his mother's hair, the one he had taken before the casket closed forever, a silky strand of sweet memory.
What would she think of him, here, now? Would she understand what he was attempting, what had to be done, in
order to save this tiny planet, yet allow his superiors to believe that they had won some victory?
If only there were someone, anyone, who might listen to him, allow him the great luxurious relief of letting down
his guard, if only for a space.