The past
Caleb had been awake for over an hour before he dared open the shutters in Mishka’s room to let in the early morning sun. The aversion to sunlight was a myth, it was more of an aversion to being awake during the day at all. He chuckled to himself as Mishka muttered under his breath and turned over, shielding his eyes from the invasive light and curling up into a ball under the rumpled sheets.
In the fleeting moments Caleb knew he had before Mishka’s consciousness kicked in, he drank in his peaceful and almost innocent expression. Caleb knew better than to try and wake him himself, he had attempted that the first morning, and his knee still ached from where Mishka had kicked him, seemingly still fast asleep.
Quietly shutting the door behind him, Caleb made his way to the small kitchen to make breakfast. He could have asked Antonio to do it, but his subordinate’s culinary skills were minimal to say the least and Mishka would refuse point blank to eat it.
It wasn’t long before he heard a noise behind him.
“You’re up early, Little One,” he said, offering the plate across. “It normally takes much longer than this to get your ass out of bed.”
Mishka grunted. He had discarded his usual clothes and was dressed in a black t-shirt and jogging pants, that at once gave him a slightly athletic demeanour, as well accentuating his slender body. His fringe flopped over his slanting grey eyes, though it was messy and on end from being in bed. Even groggy and stupid from sleep, Mishka was graceful and delicate, mused Caleb.
Mishka sat down opposite him and after vacantly pushing the food around the plate for a while took a mouthful. He pulled a face in distaste and pushed the plate away.
“You should eat something,” said Caleb, “It will be a while before you can survive on blood alone.”
“I’m not hungry,” said Mishka, immediately challenging his mentor. Caleb glanced up and swallowed. He got the impression that Mishka was impatient to get started, and the implications both amused him and made him slightly nervous.
There was a scratching at the window and Mishka’s face softened as a tiny bird alighted on the sill. He picked up a corner of his toast and held it up, being rewarded with an excited trill.
“That bird will get fat if you keep feeding it,” smiled Caleb, laughing harder when Mishka shot him a look of pure disdain.
“When will we be starting?” he asked.
“When Antonio is ready.”
Mishka hissed in annoyance, and stood up, taking more toast for his feathered friend. “I’m going to wait outside,” he announced, leaving the small cabin without looking back.
Caleb watched him depart, and shook his head. What on earth had he gotten himself into, he thought?
~oOo~
Caleb glanced across the clearing. He was fairly sure that Antonio had fallen asleep. He didn’t blame him; he had been sparring with Mishka for the best part of three hours without a break. The sun was at its peak, blazing directly overhead through the gap in the canopy into the wide circle of grass and moss. Antonio looked blissfully cool in the shade, thought Caleb, as he wiped the sweat and dirt off his face with his sleeve.
Mishka seemed intent on taking advantage of his momentary distraction and launched a devastating attack, forcing Caleb to stagger back, cursing under his breath as the tonfas blurred in front of his face. The youth was relentless, ignoring his own sweat that plastered his hair to his face and trickled down his slender neck, forming a dark V on his t-shirt. Caleb had learnt from experience that despite his size, Mishka was dangerously strong, and to give him any kind of advantage was asking for trouble.
