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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Beholder Bob" data-source="post: 2140906" data-attributes="member: 12866">Ok, this installment is rushed - I have a Dr appointment today and just wanted to get something out.  Well, any feedback?  Hello? . . . . Rook’s mind stumbled as it tried to make sense of the corpse reaching for him, finally tripping into the now as its cold hand slammed his chest, knocking the wind out of Rook.  He’s dead but not dead, he’s dead but not dead… Mother!  It had to be mother.  Rook scurried back into the burning house, his mind circling – this is the sort of thing mother could do.  The sort of thing she would do.  Momma sent the dead man to kill me!  His cloak caught fire as he backed over burning thatch, fallen from the roof.  Circling around the table, he used his off hand to beat at the flame.  The dead man lurched towards him.  “Did Momma send you?  That bitch isn't dead yet, is she?”  The corpse started sidling up the left of the table, circling it to reach him, its clouded eyes moving to follow him.  “Is that you in there, Momma?!” . . . . Rook almost tripped over the wife, her burning dress licking his legs with fire, as he circled the table opposite the dead man.  Choking on smoke, eyes watering, Rook waited till his back was to the open door, the rushing air from outside slightly cooling him.  He readied himself to run through the door when flaming thatch crashed between him his exit, brushing against him and forcing his retreat to avoid being caught in its downfall.  As he lurched back, he shoved the table, knocking the dead man reeling back.   Rook’s smoke blurred eyes went from despair at to burning with triumph as he watched the stumbling corpse.  “Momma, yar gonna burn again!”  He shoved harder against the table, shoving the stumbling dead man against the wall.  Leaning over the table, it swung its club-like hands, but the table was too long for it to reach him.   Rook felt as if he’d ignite, the flames tore at his skin, burning the hair of his arms and baking his skin, still he held the table in place, pinning the farmer’s body over the pyre. “Stay dead, Momma.”  Rook fled the burning house, dodging the fallen thatch to leap through the open door, swearing up a storm.B<img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png"  class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":]" title="Devious    :]" data-shortname=":]" />B</blockquote>

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