Surprise, Surprise... I never cease to amaze me. :) I just wrote a story that isn't sexual this time! Woohoo! :D
I think I was getting tired of sexual stories so I decided to take a little break from Master and Slave and Nice Guys Finish Last.
Though not really for Master and Slave. I'm waiting to see if I can fix this problem and if I can't, then, I'll just continue on. I'll send you chapter 16 though if you want that badly.
Well, sooo, yea. Enjoy this.. erm, non-sexual story.
- Momo out.
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A demon in the form of a young man sat in a wasteland. He was head and shoulders taller than the normal residents of the land, and he wore the clothes of royalty. Long hair reached past his waist when he stood up, and there were other telltale signs that he was not truly human; marks on his face and forehead and violet irises, as well as talons exuded from each long, white fingertip.
He was up high on a plateau in the mountains where a cold wind blew through the arid desert, whipping his hair around his face and ruffling the white fur wrapped around his shoulders. The long, iron hard body enshrouded in silk and fur felt neither cold nor heat. His face was tipped back, and he could scent living things miles away. His ears caught the sounds of pebbles rolling down the face of the mountain to the canyon floor thousands of feet below. Silver lashes came down over midnight purple eyes.
He closed his ears to the whispering of rocks sliding down the cliff behind him, and eventually everything faded away, even the rushing roar of the wind overhead. Above him stretched only sky and around him there was only wasteland. He closed his eyes, and felt something seep from his body. The hardness of the cold ground he sat on did not faze him as he turned his senses inward.
A mental image was forming, a small girl with round cheeks, tangled hair and huge, brown eyes. The sack she wore was that of the poorest village children. His nose wrinkled, and the scent of a human child filled it. He was becoming oblivious to his surroundings as he replaced reality for the imagined. In his mind's eye an aristocratic hand with long fingers and talons reached down for her. His hand.
She took it, fixing her eyes on a face way above hers. She was around six years old.
His eyebrows bent ever so slightly, and the whole scene burst to life. A field of green grass, a blue sky overhead; cool, spring air, a village in the background, the scent of old blood.
Go back, into the forest. Get all of this so you can erase it.
The scene faded to another one. His senses took in the feel of a forest; dank earth, sparse vegetation and the chill of perpetual shadow. The scents and sounds of countless animals, great and small, were all around. He was lying supine against a boulder where he'd fallen after being thrown from a battle with his despised foe. He couldn't move. He hissed the first time she came, peeking at him from behind trees a safe distance off. The tiny girl did not run away.
The sun was setting and he lay on his rock. His body was slowly repairing itself from the scratches and fang marks received from his hotheaded enemy, his brother. That final blow had knocked him off of the dragon he'd fought on and he'd landed here, immobilized for the time being.
He heard her footsteps minutes before she appeared. The path to his rock was a deer trail that only forest animals and the girl used. He moved his head until he could see her pattering up the path. She carried a large leaf with rice on it. She'd brought him food again, like she had everyday for the several weeks he'd been there. She left it there and returned down the path back to where he assumed her village was. He had never once accepted her offerings in these many weeks, yet she persisted. How stupid could a human child be?
