The twitch

“Tell me, Alastor. Do you have any place considered as home?”

Alastor closed his eyes, soaking by the moon’s cooly light and feeling the breeze flushing over his face. The wind gently brush his long hair back, and he inhaled deeply before turning his face back to Timber who had asked the question.

“There is. The glade.” Alastor answered.

Timber was perched atop the cliff, his nosed buried deep down observing the forest below. His eyes close for a second, listening intently and open with a prepared thought.

“But you don’t think yourself as one of them now, do you?”

Alastor raised a brow. “What do you mean by that? I grow up there. They thought me everything I know.”

This is going to be long before he realizes. “So, you consider them as your family? Have you ever given it a thought that maybe they’re not what you think you are? Have you been skeptical about them?”

“I live in that place for many years. I think I know how things work on our little community.”