Andrew turned to the window and pushed it slightly more open, hoping that there might be some breeze in the still summer night. The candle did not even flicker in the darkness.

He laid down the quill and stared into the lonely flame, allowing his eyes to drift out of focus as he relaxed back into the chair. The soft yellow glow filled his vision and he started to drift into a familiar reverie.

He allowed his mind to wander in the background and found himself remembering the Great Hall when he had first arrived. It had been in the very depths of Winter that he had made the journey across the county to pledge himself to the order, and he had been so keen to finally arrive after ten days in the snow and wind that he had not camped in sight of the abbey to approach in the morning. The brother that had welcomed him as an honoured guest had left him seated in the Great Hall surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of votive candles flickering in the icy drafts that cut across the space while he fetched the Abbot.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the following image:

Photo by Michael Esplana (on Flickr) you can see the photo’s page here.