Connor turned so that he was facing him. There was a unique smell of paper rolls on his father's body, which reminded Connor of the yellowed paper that was pressed under the box, of the burning pine branches sitting around the fire with his mother when he was a child, and of the feathers he picked up on those cliffs. These bizarre memories, accompanied by a vagueness that seemed like a past life, made him finally fall asleep in a drowsy manner.
Conception:
