“You’ve had trouble.”
The observation almost made him laugh.
“Yes,” Philip replied.
The old, skeletal figure nodded its white, bald head in acknowledgement without any change coming over its shriveled face; neither sympathy nor triumph was there. It was unmoved, like a stone. There was nothing there, and Philip trembled.
“And you’ve come to me.”
Philip’s head bowed; he could not look at that lifeless mask of flesh.
“Yes,” he said.
“Why?”
Philip’s hand, all the while holding the matted and bloody tatters of his shirt against his still flowing wound, pressed deeper; a shot of pain cleared his mind.
Tale Told 