It was just like he remembered. The carved stone, mottled-colored with moss, the shadowed garden. The area was well-tended.
“Is that a bell, Daddy?”
The man looked down at the child beside him. The little girl’s arm was wrapped through his. She had seen the small bell fitted into a small alcove on the shrine, its dull metal glow just visible.
The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Are you going to ring it?”
“Maybe. In a minute.”
Darren guided his daughter to a stone bench.
“Can we go, Daddy?” the child asked. “I don’t like it here.”
Continue reading at Wallie’s Wentletrap