Gemotions

The attic was a cool contrast to the warmth of the day. A gentle breeze whispered through a crack in the window, stirring the dust. He took a slow, deep breath, the air smelling of aged wood and something else, something indefinable.

He noticed a small, wooden rocking horse sitting in the corner. He moved towards it, his steps measured and deliberate. He ran his hand across its smooth, worn surface. A gentle smile touched his lips as he sat down on the floor, settling in to examine the horse more closely.