... A macabre ballade of flickering light, as the gushing of slashes whipped the fleeting flames, until – as a repose – the last one finally conceded, expiring their ultimate breath.
Silence, finally returned.
The Hound looked around himself pleased, as he wiped the red from his halberd – a jewel, a tool, a weapon, and a companion.
Silver in shine, sturdy as will, sharp as obsidian – it was a creation of his indirect design, yet one of which he adored so much.
And one, where only he was capable of wielding.
The Hound was ready to leave, abandoning those corpses to decay. But as his steps reached towards the busted door of the dungeon, a small moving shadow caught his attention:
A pale little fade, that was barely registered in the corner of his eye.
He freezed, curious.
His eyes sharply sliced towards the direction of that movement, only to see nothing:
Empty cages upon empty cages, stacked atop each other, just creeping in the shades.
A trick of the mind? Simple exhaustion?
No.
There is no illusion for him; He is in control.
There is no excuse such as exhaustion; There is no such luxury.
He took one step further to examine, and right there – in the dark shadows unreached by the faint torchlights – he saw that pale little tail move again.
It retreated.
It was nothing but one of those poor existences meant to be sacrificed.
The Hound tilted his body at his hips, holding himself steady with the halberd planted in the wet stones for support, and with a cautious gaze, he tried to make out what was being held in that cage.
For sure, it was a slave like the manies in the corners, already gutted and lifeless.
But what race did it belong to?
And as his eyesight lowered, the imagine of that candid existence presented itself in front of him:
Silver, yet grimy hair. Tender, yet bruised skin.
A little tail of bones still far too immature, just childishly trying to hide itself behind its owner.
Afraid, despaired.
Though, what caught the Hound's attention the most was the child's eyes – opaque, milky, akin to a blind's – which were staring at him so intently, never blinking, never escaping.
How intriguing it was for the Hound to find such a little thing in this place. He could already imagine what that child was probably thinking, and what dreadful horrors it had experienced.
To be blind, while hearing the wailings of strangers and their desperate pleads but—
... Why is it staring at me...
—He could feel it; That child was staring at him far too keenly.
The Hound approached the cage, making sure not to make a single sound with his steps and yet, he saw the child react.
It pushed its back against the rusted iron bars and decaying wooden frames. Not out of fright, but a simple caution; A desire to keep the distance till it could understand who was in front of itself.
The Hound waved his hand, slowly, meticulously, in different directions — he wanted to test it; To see if his thoughts were confirmed. And though the child's responses were subtle, he could see its eyes following his movements.
He smiled, amused; A grin appearing on his face – she wasn't blind at all.
The Hound crouched down in front of the child's cage, and slowly, he raised the back of his hand towards it – what harm was there if he played with that thing just a bit?
Like a guard halting his patrol to pet a stray pup, or a farmer admiring a danderfly landing on a branch – he just wanted a little break, from the monotony of blood.
However, the child did not move. It just stared, observed, locked its eyes onto him like a predator stalking its prey — that small little bundle of white so fragile, who hunted the Hound with that gaze.
It was truly unsettling, even for an existence such as the Hound, how that child was staring straight into his soul. And without any warnings—
Plat plat plat plat plat!
—The child suddenly crawled all the way forward so quickly, so rapidly, like a starved little pup assaulting its target.
And in that instance, its face was just a finger of distance from that of the Hound's.
With its pale beady eyes, still observing him so infatuated. Enamored.
The Hound fell backward, slipping onto the slick puddles of red from the fright. He was far too stunned to even understand what had just happened, or why that child suddenly approached him in such a manner.
It looked so pathetic, so timid, so wary — something that should be dreading his existence.
But when his eyes raised to observe the child once more... An intrigued, amused, entertained smile creeped over his face—
... You little imp...
—He chuckled to himself.
While the small child so strange, showed him a smile aking to his:
Entertained, amused, intrigued.
Yet, with a hint of innocent mischief, as if she wanted to stand on par with him—
What a fun little thing...
—The two snickered in silence, as the faint torchlight illuminated their grim...
YOU ARE READING
Howlless
General Fiction... World, a simple word. One that contains so much: So much diversity, thoughts, ideals, dreams, stories - each needing books after books, just to touch its bare surface. And yet, there is no protagonist of this single world. Everyone's the protago...
