Tortoise and Fox [BL]

3.1

"Troublesome. The full moon never bodes well."

Past the cobbling paths and rickety streets of villagers, who busied themselves with the sway and hum of fading daylight, stood a beaten path to the side, singling out in the far distance out of town from the forest. It was so overgrown, that rarely anyone would tread it—the locals would stop the single curious adventurer or two before they could. They warned that it was private property, owned long since they could remember. To step on it was trespassing, and a bad omen to the more superstitious.

A bad omen—and a large fine that adventurers would pay if a villager discovers they went onto private land.

But if one were really to walk the path, they would find a seemingly abandoned mansion, beautifully constructed with dark mahoganies and deep inky oaks, crusted with more thick ivy every year of abandonment.

Upon closer inspection, however, the front gardens are especially lush—with neatly trimmed hedges, pruned roses, and carefully nurtured flower patches. The ivy carefully curves around every window and terrace, maintained well around each entryway.

The heavy curtains shifted minutely, indiscernible from the outside. The man standing behind them yawned softly, igniting a match to light the initially dark room. Soft, yellow light accentuated the narrow features. High cheekbones and thin lips, thin brows and a long bridged nose that complimented obsidian eyes.

He tied his hair up in a practiced routine, braiding it into a pinned bun, before slipping on a black, cotton dress shirt and matching pants. The man still felt slightly sluggish from his restful sleep, blinking to rid the blurred edges around his vision.

He stopped at the desk, staring down at the leather-bound journal open. He flipped through the pages, which alternated from left and right. On the left, was his handwriting. elegant, inked cursive neatly upheld by invisible lines in straightness. But, the right side made his head ache as he skimmed through; words reminiscent of chicken scratch were hurriedly scribbled down, ink blotches scattered everywhere.

"How messy..."

He flipped to the latest entry. The last few sentences he noted in particular in his mind.

'Continued efforts to find the ring are appreciated–thank you, Elijah; no luck today in town. Check night market tonight'

A few messy lines in vague, squiggle-like shapes could be made out at the end statement, which Elijah understood were supposedly hearts. He shook his head with a smile, binding the journal shut.

He put on more layers before stepping down the elongated halls, into the commons room, to which the front door sat before. A crackling fireplace dimmed without wood to feast upon, the initially warm glow waning into little bursts of red. Large, mismatched rugs were strewn across the floors, made up of thick woolen material that compressed underfoot.

What seemed out of place from the warm candle lit fire and faint pine scent–was the large tortoise laying atop. A deep grayish green with large, faint outlined patterns covered the shell, reaching to the top of Elijah's thighs as he stepped over. The tortoise, resting its head against the soft carpeting, lifted up slightly, from the creaking steps of his boots. It's wrinkled neck craned over, pressing against his pant leg as Elijah stroked the coarse shell, rubbing against his palm cooly.

"I'll stoke the fire for you before I leave."

Elijah spoke curtly, not finding any need to stand around and dawdle when there were tasks he had set aside to do for the night. The tortoise blinked at him slowly, before turning back with one last soft nudge, retreating into its shell, and sinking back down as the bottom of the carapace reached the floor; it pulled its legs in as well.