Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Mister Wolf and the little warrior 6.2

CW for mentions of violence and abuse

------------------

Despite common belief, Callan was not a violent man.

He'd heard all sorts of ridiculous rumours. A particularly popular one was an alleged incident during which a nobleman talked back during a meeting, and in retaliation, Callan chopped off his head with a single blow of his sword. It was a tale widely believed, never mind no one had ever witnessed such a thing.

This was just an example of the rumours swirling around Callan. It was said that he could shatter minds at will and resurrect the dead and even that he kept a pet basilisk to which he fed his victims. Once, he'd even heard something about how his kill count was well above the thousands. Callan didn't even think there would be enough people populating the earth for that to be remotely possible.

Callan's reputation was something fearsome, especially considering he didn't actually leave his home all that often. Gods knew he certainly didn't have the time to go around committing mass slaughter like they said he did. Despite it all, he didn't do anything to correct the rumours, because frankly, at least people left him alone then, and because he saw some benefit to it. People thought him violent and vengeful, and with that, impulsive.

Callan was not impulsive. His anger was a cold, frosty thing. It was calculating and patient. He saw the value in waiting years if necessary. He saw the value in laying low and waiting his enemy out, dragging it out until his adversary was practically insane, waiting for him to strike. Paranoia made people desperate. It made them sloppy and blind. And desperate people always made foolish mistakes.

He had always thought himself above rash mistakes, but then again, he had never truly felt threatened. He'd never had something he loved in danger. For the first time, he understood that desperation that drove someone to lash out and strike. The desperate desire to protect something, even if it cost him the entire game.

He arrived at the Codshire estate with his mind set in stone, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. He settled between the thick canopy of trees in his usual place, and it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for.

There, on the grass, Minna, Elowen and her little brother. They seemed to be in the middle of a game, so he leaned against a tree with a small smile and watched from afar.

Minna stood with her back to the children, a mischievous grin on her face. The children giggled and wiggled around, stood a good few metres away from her, with their backs pressed to a tree.

Elowen cupped a hand around her mouth and yelled out, "What's the time, Mister Wolf?"

Minna pretended to ponder, humming in thought and tapping her chin. "It's five o clock," she called out in a sinister voice.

The children giggled and took five steps forward, except Elowen, who took two more.

"It's five, not seven, Winny!" Grayson whisper-yelled, tugging on her arm and tittering. "That's cheating!"

Elowen shushed him and tugged him along, all while Minna bit her cheek to avoid laughing, pretending to not hear them.

"What time is it, Mister Wolf?" they called out in unison, following the same actions, this time taking four steps when Minna called out three o clock.

This went on for a while, until they'd gotten quite close, jittering with excitement as they swayed on the spot, braced to leap.

Elowen took a big breath and called out, "What time is it, Mister Wolf?"

Minna waited for a long moment, making obvious humming noises and rubbing her hands. The children tittered anxiously, just waiting to start running.

"It's... dinner time!"