Snippet #1828496

It had been a year. A year! He had been in limbo the entire time, wondering what to do, where to do it. On this day, of all days, he wore naught but white and red and remained in his tent, absorbed in the mourning. He had been mourning for some time. What did it matter? The non-roma he fooled didn't know the significance of the white and red he wore in his clothing, somewhere, at all time.

A year and no word. Surely she was dead and gone. Her spirit didn't even seem to have lingered, though he had no clue, as she would have died away from the caravan.