Day-Lynx (EDITING)

Whines in Nine

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A splinter as sharp as thunder splits the wooden floor apart as Rozell's head clashes against it.

Somewhere in the black sky, an owl alerts its prey, but the critters near the cottage must not hear it since Rozell's whimpers cling to the air. As the dead animals burst out of his fur, Rozell's blanket can no longer hold back his cries.

The potion leaves his body as painful as its arrival yesterday.

A set of footsteps from the other side of the wall storms to the door, later pausing in front of Rozell's room. Several hurried knocks settle in. "Rozell, are you okay, boy?"

Rozell's fangs slice through his stuttering tongue. "I'm okay, Grandpa. Just a nightmare."

When the thin light from the hallway filters through the door, Rozell slips into the humidity of his blanket, still panting from the intense aches.

"How could you roll down the bed and made a mess like this?"

With cold tears stinging his eyes, Rozell grips the blanket until his palms itch. "I just dreamt of that dead man, Grandpa."

Only the crackling branches outside can interrupt the chilly silence in the room. It's like Rozell's heart is ready to leap out, forming another animal on his chest.

Who wouldn't, though, if a dead man had appeared in their nightmare and pulled them from the bed, straight into the snow?

After what feels like a hundred counts, Grandpa shuffles closer to Rozell, caressing the top of his head.

His Day-Lynx head. But the fur isn't much coarser than his human hair, thankfully.

"We can only pray for the dead, boy. Maybe they visit us in our sleep to remind us to do so. Or to remind us of them."

But Grandpa, Opus Renance is in my head to haunt me! I owe him my blood. I owe him half a leg as well.

When his tears can no longer perch in peace, a sob slips out of his lips. "Does it not scare you whenever Grandma visits you?"

It's like an unseen puppeteer drags Grandpa away from the bed, for his hand on Rozell's head slowly retreats. "Sometimes, actually. Your grandma is still the most possessive woman I know. She won't ever let me forget about her. Ever." Rozell imagines Grandpa's lips curling at the edges, mixed between comfort and grief. "She even came to me when we were in Avoridge, begging someone to find her body."

What? Why would she want that?

More questions try to claw their way out of Rozell's throat. But instead, he merely presses out a profuse apology for broaching the subject. Before Grandpa reaches his way out, he only chuckles half-heartedly and closes the door.

When the first sunlight strikes the mountain peak, tracing down the path to the cottage, Rozell hasn't moved from his position. Even when the light dares to enter his room and reveals the coat of dust and bugs at the corners, Rozell's mind is still racing with his nightmare of Opus.

Grandpa's wisdom only soothes him a little.

What if Opus is still as possessive as Grandma was? Does that forever make me his hostage?

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Before Grandpa can knock on Rozell's door and hoist his building materials into the room, the Day-Lynx has leaped out of the window, huddling with the thinning snow of Borealm Woods. The morning air bites into his skin like ants, but the strong sunlight wards it off slowly.