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(Page 2 of 2) A Feather by Latete du Lion
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An urchin skipped down a small, dismal alley, tossing his little head from side to side to the merry tune he whistled. Abruptly, he stopped and frowned, glancing to the side of the street where an old blind man sat slouched against a house wall, swathed in a grey smoke from his pipe. The boy came to him and looked down at him compassionately from his dark eyes. He pulled out a white plume from under his coat, twisting it contemplatively in his palm, smiling as he saw the gold dust on its tip twinkle in the sunlight.
"Here," the boy said softly. He grasped the man's rough hands, and put the feather inside them.
"What is this?" the blind man croaked, putting away his pipe.
"An angel's feather. If given, it heals the one that holds it. Behold the world around you!" He laughed, turned and hopped away.
The milky sheen withdrew from the blind man's eyes. He blinked, tears stinging his eyes, and sprang up from the ground.
"I see..." he cried incredulously, his chest quaking with sobs of joy. He looked down at his palms, but the feather was gone.
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