He sat in the living room of the renovated house, gazing absently at the piano. His gaze was aimed far behind, he was not really looking at anything at all. There was a click, the flicker, and the wave of panic. He looked at the flame in his hand for a moment, in his control, and closed the zippo.

It would have been easy to put it all to the fire, to find another place to rest or to leave the town with no explanations left. Perhaps wander down south to Mexico, or further north. Every place would have been more or less the same for him at this point.

Click. Flicker. Fear.

The whole situation had been a mistake. He had known better, but he hadn't been able to help himself. No one should have been able to see what was behind his eyes, now he was standing on a crossroad where all paths seemed as equally unappealing.

Back home, perhaps, as hard as arranging the journey might have been. He longed the woods, the old buildings, the familiar scents and accents. He knew his brothers and sisters would be there among the ruins, holding their ceremonies and howling to the night.

Click.