Not much happened in the city of Larkrill. Shopkeepers and residents went about their business. The weather changed with the seasons. The plaza was always empty, save for the fountain. In short, the place was dull and monotonous.


The man wasn’t sure why, but Larkrill appealed to him. It was a place forgotten by history, unlike where he had just come from. Compared to Larkrill, Faycrest boomed. It shouted its very existence to the heavens. He had loved Faycrest. Why, then, did Larkrill seem so much better?


He stood on the train platform, wrapped in a gray leather trench-coat. The rain splattered on the ground, just barely missing the cashmere scarf around his neck. For the moment, he was warm. If the real estate agent didn’t arrive soon, though, that would change.


Quickly checking his silver watch, the man frowned. His brow began to furrow, but the arrival of a faded Firebird straightened it out. He grabbed a single suitcase, hurried over to the car and jumped in.


The woman behind the wheel introduced herself as the agent from the real estate office. She drove the Firebird out of the station lot. Angling for a street called Blue Boulevard, she explained that the office had told her to take him to lunch. He didn’t complain. The train conductor had forgotten to give him any snacks.


The Firebird slowly churned through the muddy roads. As it went, the woman asked him about his company. The man, slow to respond even to a friend, was silent for a long while. But as she was preparing to ask again, he muttered that plans were in place. Once housing was figured out, he would start up. She let the matter rest.


Pulling to a stop in front of a little café, the woman and the man exited the car. As she locked the Firebird, the man huddled deeper into his coat. The rain was falling harder than before, and he didn’t have an umbrella. The man had never seen the need for one. He wished he had one now, though.


The woman led the way into the café, but the man stopped just under the awning. Something had caught his eye. A ragged child, wearing a threadbare towel over an equally worn shirt, was slumped against a wall in an alley. The child’s hair dripped. But all that hadn't been what had caught his attention. The child’s eyes had called him. They were mournful eyes. They were eyes that had seen too much in far too short a time.


The man left the shelter of the awning and approached the child. When he neared, the child looked up at him. The eyes didn’t seem hopeful, or even scared. They seemed resigned. The man squatted down, and those eyes followed him. A shiver passed through the child, and the man frowned.


“Why aren’t you inside?” the man asked.


The child shrugged.


“Where do you live?”


The child shrugged again. The man frowned slightly.


“Can you speak?”


The man received the same shrug. His frown deepened. He stood and walked into the café. He asked the woman if she knew the child. She didn’t, she said, and if the man knew what was good for him he’d leave the child alone. The man asked why.


“Those filthy orphans are all around town.” She turned away, asking what he wanted to eat.


“I don’t want to eat anything.” The woman spun around. She knew he had wanted to eat just five minutes ago. He shrugged. He asked her again about the child.


She repeated her previous statement. The man opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “If you insist on... dealing with those urchins, you can kiss your home goodbye.”


The man shrugged, a slight smile on his face. He stepped out of the café. The woman stared after him.


He approached the child again. He knelt down on the ground, reached out a hand and wiped the rain from the child’s face. A pointless gesture, yes, but one full of meaning. The child’s eyes began to water. The man took the child in his arms, and the child dug into the man’s coat.


The man had loved Faycrest. But he loved Larkrill more. Now he knew why.