He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.
“Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number.
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.” — Mary Shelly
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