Story Sketches: Steve the Shovel

The man of the hour.
The man of the hour.

Anya swayed slowly back and forth as she walked with a light step through the dark night toward the boarding house. Her fingers were black with soot from her sketches, a fading smudge still on her right temple. Her sketchbook was clutched to her chest as she hugged herself happily. Looking up, her eyes found a single brilliant star glowing fiercely in the sky. For a moment, she paused, just standing there, face raised to the sky as the light of the Mariner bathed her in its warmth. She took a deep breath and held it, a grin spreading wide and glistening in the night.

For the first time in what felt like an age, she smiled as she walked down the streets of Bree.   

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