They bled. As if they had a heart to beat, and red through their veins, the trees bled. In ignorance, the soldier found no bliss. Instead, fear throttled his heart and Æthelwulf struggled to breathe past the bile rising in his throat. War stained his mind the color of decay, and no matter how desperately he pushed the memories away, they came to torment him sometime or another. As if trauma were some sort of demon that could, in itself, lust for pain - a voice purred sweet bedevils into his ears.
Young knight, it murmured. Where are you, now that they need you?
He bared his teeth to the threats only he could hear in a futile attempt to ward away what didn't exist. What a broken man it took to be thrust into turmoil at the sight of tree sap. So endlessly wrapped in his past was he that the River child didn't notice the approach of another until they were nearly upon him. Wild eyes swung to regard the stranger, blended with the shadows as though they were one in the same. The night was a fitting time to meet such a beast: what was moonlight, if not the spotlight for devils?
Æthelwulf was in a piss poor mood for company. He expressed his apprehension with a voice so quiet, the gentle breeze threatened to carry it away.
"I know so few awake at this hour with pure intentions," as he spoke, something told him this stranger was not one of the few. He was often wrong, though, and he waited with baited hopes to be proven so again.
He found no solace in the apparent agreement of this stranger. Snakes, too, whispered concurrence - but their fangs remained sharp all the same. This man before him was not unlike the reptiles. Or was it his paranoia telling him so? What a poor thing it was: being unable to trust one's own mind.
"What brings you here?"
Æthelwulf titled his chin, narrowed eyes searching for telling signs of malice. He found none, but caution hissed to him in feverish gasps. Are snakes in the grass any less potent, River child? His tongue peeled from his jaws, dragging along his muzzle in a display of thought. He supposed engaging the stranger would do him no harm, should he keep the distance between them a comfortable sort. He considered the question, a pensive frown pulling at his lips. In truth? He was hiding. Destiny was a bloodhound locked on his scent, but he ran from the inevitability regardless. Coward. His muzzle twitched.
"I'm waiting."
How terribly vague.
"Perhaps, for company. Perhaps for someone like you," lies always tasted sweet upon his tongue.
White split the darkness as the stranger smiled, and Wulf couldn't help but to be reminded of a dæmon he once met. But who stood before him wasn't of the same ilk, no, for they'd be communicating only through flesh and sin if so.
The stranger asked for more, and Æthelwulf found he had none to give. It was a dangerous thing to look into man's depths, to pry below the surface, to search. All the sweetest secrets lay there, a honey turned sour by the dreadful things a man kept alongside them. He never wished to know more of someone than that of which they offered freely. Usually, they only gave harmless things. Harmless, shallow things, but the River Child never cared much for depth anymore.
His company was waiting.
"And what is someone like me?"
"Show me."
A challenge? A tease? He wasn't exactly sure what his words were meant to be, for his tongue acted on its own accord.
so sorry for such a short post aaaa