ADVENTURE OF SALVIN SAWYERR

THE CAGED HEART

I lurked over the trees, moving just like the wind over the hunters. They clung to the logs, heads up, trying to get a glimpse of me and shoot to the slightest gesture.
I smiled. It was obvious these had not a single idea of the being of whom they sought. They called themselves The Dark Hunters. . .ooh, I'm scared. . .but none ever really knew a single thing about the Ink Lord.
My eyes skedaddled across the frightened bodies below me. I did a quick eye-count of the hunters; 7. Smiling, I drew out a poem of love on the tree log of which I clung to, and blew it down on them.
These began to infatuate with their imaginatives, each man dropping his guns to advance toward a mental maiden.
As I looked down, I observed each one, smiling ear-to-ear. Then I froze as my eyes caught a man's eyes locked with mine. I wanted to scream impossible; for none had ever escaped my love hook. Although, a certain historical book I'd seen at the creeks of my cave talked about people whose heart had been ripped off emotions even as deep as love.
Impulsively I ducked away, just in time to miss a shot for my head. I moved down the trees, swung over some of the hunters — just to land in the face of him, the hunter without a heart.
He charged against me at full speed, head forward. I observed his mood carefully, in a split-second. He had anger, yes, anger as hot as the sun. I looked further and I saw that there was something he'd locked within him. Something strong; wait. . .could it be—
I pushed the right side of my body in such that only the left faced forward, leaving this fellow to stagger behind me in shame of such charged speed he'd engaged. I closed my eyes to feel deeper, the force breathing behind me; and then I discovered something—
He charged against me again, but with an "aaaaaarh!" call of what? Action? I pushed myself upwards and back, leaving the fellow to charge into an empty space again. The more I avoided violence, the more he fumed. And the more he fumed, the more I sensed his character as a person. I looked deeper and saw. . .
This time, the hunter was panting. He did a quick survey about himself and saw his colleagues acting crazily. He raised a gun, aiming for my head, before I said, "She?"
He arched an eyebrow, lowering the gun. "She?"
"Yes" said I. "The young lady caged in your heart."
He lowered his gun, completely, fury dropping from his eyes to an innocent countenance.
But the caprice didn't last for long as he tried to charge against me with renewed anger this time. I placed my leg apart — one forward, the other backwards — waiting for him with fisted hands.
He arched a blow, but I guess he was slow 'cause I crouched quickly and threw a blow into his stomach. The force he'd advanced towards me with was what made the blow to be very hard on him. The blow threw him back, leaving him coughing intensely, red liquid spilling from his mouth, and flowing down the mucus from his wide nostrils.
As I advanced towards him, he began to pull himself away from me from the dirty soil he half-sat.
"How was it you were able to resist the love hook when you looked so emotional at the mention of a 'she'?" I asked him, now reaching to him, stooped down to his face.
He smiled, exhibiting his blood-stained teeth. And to think this was a result of just one blow in the tummy was funny.
"When men do things, they do them for a purpose," said he. "When women brake men, their every sense of purpose and feeling has been broken, save for one—" he indicated that by raising his index finger, "pain."
I stared at him, pondering over the philosophy.
"I'll help you, bruvver," said I in all honesty.
"No!" countered he, spreading out his palm in interjection.
Ignoring this, I sat Indian-style to meditate on a soothing poem with the power of loosening pain; little did I know that he drew out a shortgun from his pocket.
"Yoo-hoo," he called in pain, causing me to open my eyes, simultaneously. I gasped back at the sight of the gun.
Raising both arms in the air, I said, "Bruvver, I was just trying to help—"
"Well I don't need 'em," replied the hunter. He slowly raised it to my head. I had to shut my eyes to think of a quick avertion until I heard the deafening noise. . .
Gboah!
I couldn't hear anything. My eyes still shut, I waited for the deep pain to come, but it only ended in my ears. Still seated in the manner which I aforementioned, I waited to die, but wasn't seeing myself doing so.
Slowly, I opened my eyes, behold, the hunter with the caged heart had placed the gun to his chest. He'd broken his heart himself, only at the expense of his life.
I fell on him and began to cry loud. His words played ever new in my ears. Tears rolled down my cheeks to his. I drew out my pen and wrote on his broken heart: THE INK LORD WAS HERE.
I raised myself up and looked around the others, snapping my fingers, the love hook faded from their eyes. They looked about themselves until they stopped to face me. One man looked from me to the other, and then they froze when they looked behind me.
I heard a pixie sound behind me, but concluded they were fallen leaves. The Dark Hunters stared over my shoulders still, and someone shouted, "See!"
Since they were all staring at the body, it was funny someone still implored another to look, so I looked behind me, and what I saw made my lips fall apart each other.
The man was raising himself from the ground, and his chest shone in very bright blue, THE INK LORD. . .