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The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 4288

Updated: 2018-07-12 12:03

'Yes' Amaia breathed; her heart jolting at the memory. 'I remember that. I wouldn't sit still.'

'Yes!' Farrell said triumphantly. 'Your mother use to always pander to you, it made me so mad when she didn't listen to me……but I could never stay mad at her for long, never.' He thought for a moment, 'she used to dance with me, used to sing sometimes ….the both of you made me so happy…..I…..' Farrell took a deep breath. 'She stuck by me….even through the most difficult of times. She was a good person your mother' Farrell nodded to himself. 'Her heart was pure. That's what your mother was like, she was really sweet. She would chose to help others before helping herself, even if it was a big trouble for her to do so. Now what else…?' he laughed uncertainly. Farrell looked around him, as if it would help him remember what he should say. 'She uh……uh……your mother….she was……'

Farrell lifted a hand slowly to his face and made an action to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped.

'She was……' he began to tremble. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks. 'Ramana…' he whispered.

Farrell hunched forwards, burying his head in his hands. 'Amaia….I'm sorry….I'm so sorry…….this is all my fault. I've caused you so much pain. If I hadn't been caught up in my grief, then I would have………I would have….'


Farrell looked up at his daughter who had touched his shoulder lightly.

'Amaia' he laughed through his tears. 'Not you too. Silly girl.' He reached forwards, brushing the tears from her cheeks. 'I shouldn't be sad…I know. I just miss her so much.' He drew back away from her. 'I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you over the years….I'm sorry that I failed you…'

She rose from her seat; kneeling before him on the floor she embraced him, holding him around his middle. Farrell held her tightly back, awash with emotions that overflowed within him. A tear slid down his cheek as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, in his mind thanking the gods for this moment, this wonderful moment.

And then he thought of her.

Ramana. I've found her. I've finally found her

Our precious treasure


ter Sixty Five


'Arlen!' Farrell burst through the door without warning.

'What!' Arlen gasped, grabbing his chest suddenly. 'I was sleeping. Gods you near enough game me a heart attack…next time can't you kno-'

'I've found Amaia' Farrell blurted. 'I've found her!' He swooped up to Arlen and held him either side of his face, smiling with tears running down his cheeks. 'She's alive! And well.'

Arlen stared at him blankly for several seconds, taking a long time to process what Farrell had just said.

'Where is she?' Arlen demanded urgently grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. 'Where?!'

'Please' Farrell said, raising a hand to try to calm both himself and Arlen. 'She's a little nervous….understandably. Just……just try to calm down a little.'

Arlen forced himself to sit back, taking several deep breaths to steady himself, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

'Ok' he said breathing deeply again. 'Please' he said slowly, trying to stop himself from trembling. 'Show me where she is. But wait!' he added suddenly as Farrell straightened up again. 'I have to do something first.'

Arlen rose from the bed, throwing back the sheets and making his way to a dresser nearby.

'Get me some water' he waved to Farrell behind him. 'Don't ask just do it' he added hastily, seeing Farrell's reflection open its mouth to question.

Farrell closed his mouth again, rushing off to get a bowl of water, returning shortly after and placing it on the dresser before Arlen uncertainly.

'Good' Arlen smiled, dabbing a rag into the cool water. 'Just wait there' he said to Farrell, lifting the damp rag to his face and wiping away the black paint from around his eyes.

Seconds later, he took a razor from the dresser, and lifted it to his cheek.

Farrell watched in silence as Arlen worked, doing so slowly and carefully so as not to cut himself, but Farrell could see his brother's hand still shaking slightly.

A few minutes later, Arlen placed the razor back upon the dresser, using the rag now to wash his face. He surveyed his own reflection with satisfaction, before turning back to Farrell.

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