Gold. Silver. Frankincense. Myrrh. Gifts fit for a God, but what is fit for the King of Birmingham?
What is fit for a man that already has everything a man could possibly want?
A little bit of Gold created Chaos, perhaps?
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"Why in Gods name are we going to a funeral?"
The smile that had sat comfortably on Aberama Golds face slid off, his eyes narrowing in on one of his daughters.
"Dorothea, do not question why. Just do. In the caravan. Now!"
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Dorothea, actually called Milly, did as she was told. Following her twin brother into their mode of transport in silence. And that was how she stayed, not answering when spoken to- not even tearing her eyes away from the small crack of a window.
What did Small Heath have to offer any of them that their current home couldn't?
Actually, what could the people of Small Heath offer the six Golds that others couldn't? What made them so special? What made them special enough for Aberama to up camp with little to no notice?
Only time would tell- and under their circumstances, some would have far less than others.
But, perhaps they could give them the frivolous things in life. Like love. Of all things.
Love? War? Peace? Death?
Maybe all of it.
Or nothing at all.
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