Dormant

25

Blood, sweat, I'll break my bones

'Till all my scars are bleed golden,

My name's forever known!

(Bang, bangm won't stop 'til we're legends),

Woah-oh, Woah-oh,

Bang, bang, won't stop 'til we're legends!

The Score, Legend

25

His nose twitched.

His eyes remained locked on his goal. Lips dry; he licked his lips on habit, marveling for a second how the human brain worked so dully. Of course it would do such primitive actions when it doesn't even work. Nose twitched; he sniffed, hoping that it would deter the fly that had been buzzing there for the past few minutes. When that didn't work, he glanced around for any signs of life. The coast was clear: hand swatted at fly.

"I'm not sure if I understand exactly what is happenin'," John whispered besides the White Horseman. Beads of sweat had gathered across his wrinkled forward and he was squinting. Strife had made him remove his brilliant orange bandana a long time ago.

"You don't need too. Just stay quiet and don't move."

"Hell, kid, there ain't even anybody here. Ya said three hours 'go that there was someone that was walkin' 'round Jessica's property like they own the place and I have yet to actually see anybody. I don't think that ya know what the hell yore talkin' 'bout."

"When you're attempting to spy on someone, you tend not to speak as much as you are."

John shot him a look. With a dramatic eyeroll, John's shoulders tensed as he moved to stand. Instantly Strife jerked the old man back down, ignoring his slight grunt. The Nephilim failed to find any sympathy toward the old man. He wasn't used to this. Strife's human body wasn't either; when he had been a real Horseman, Strife could wait years in the same place, patiently waiting for his next victim to wander across his path. The Kingdom of Man could hardly attempt such feats. There were something could urges that he had yet to control; his stomach would roar from hungry occasionally.

"There ain't even anyone here!" Now John was pissed. It was sort of funny watching him angry. His beard was so thin that patches of his reddening skin was visible through the scraggly white. "I'm gettin' tired of this shit real quick, kid. We either leave here soon, or I'll give ya a damned reason to move yore ass."

Avoiding the temptation of throwing an insult, Strife simply glared ahead through the golden grass. There was a part of him that wished to join John as the old man stood, giving Strife such a mean look that the Horseman could almost physically feel it attempting to shove a dagger through the back of his head. But he knew that he was right. Strife had seen something earlier. Sure, it was a quick glimpse of something, but he knew what he saw. Maybe it was nothing, but he wanted to make sure.

They had been out herding the sheep. Goliath hadn't been too concerned with whatever it was; the black Newfoundland had continued working with the animals despite the lack of John and Strife. Strife, however, had forced John to stay. He wanted to make sure that he hadn't been the only one to see that. He just couldn't have.

You just don't see dragons on Earth anymore.

With the golden prairie, Strife had almost thought that he had imagined it. His only hint had been the strange way that the light had reflected off of the creature. But he knew that he wasn't imagining when it briefly caught his eyes, causing a chill to run up his spine. A wyvern. It was small compared to some that he had seen; it looked about the size of Jessica's prized bull. He hadn't caught most of the details. It was bent, typical of a wyvern, and blended rather nicely into the background. But he knew for a fact that it wasn't supposed to be there.