Hak’kar slipped into the heir’s suite of the country house where the women had taken up mourning. He paused just inside the gold-leafed doors, wondering if his brother’s ghost might be lingering. The pale green walls were silent. Not the color of House Charam, this was paler and lighter. It didn’t look like anyone had been in here since the accident.

May the gods bless these rooms and grant my brother peace in the afterworld.

Feeling confident that he had the gods’ blessing, he ventured into the central room.  Looking around, Hak’kar decided the walls should be burgundy. All of it would be redone, he decided.  He wanted to make it his own. He looked around, trying to get a feel for the room. 

A shirt that was too big to fit him lay on the floor, where it had lain for over two months. The rooms were luxurious but served the tastes of an eighteen year old boy.  Hak’kar went over to the shelves and began pulling things down. He tossed a polarity ball over his shoulder, watching as it bounced erratically across the common area towards the door.  That would be the discard pile, he decided. He had little interest in sports, and certainly not ones that required a team effort. 

Next went a collection of books, mostly stories of adventure and romance.  He remembered Zaran saying those were good for impressing the girls. Hak’kar scoffed out loud, remembering that. His brother should have been more concerned with impressing the gods.