Permafrost Hollows 弱い人

beneath the veil of midnight the samurai moves. carving through ice and tundra, blazing a path through snow and thicket deceased by the colds grip. backlit by the moon's light, his form a mere glimpse as it flits from shadow to shadow. 

tired, weary bones still carry him far and true. a man born from the night using it to his advantage as pale eyes leer from its cloak. watching a herd of caribou bed. they will not be still for long, as he will reveal himself in time. 

inching closer through the thaw, settling only when their ears would turn toward his direction. he was not alone, but it was a presence ignored for now.

ghost of ice and ash moves silent between snowdrifts, head low. he is here not to hunt, but to observe the herd as they graze. the calves as they toddle at their mother's feet. he knows, also, that a stranger hunts here. not one of faust's men. news he will deliver once he is sure of the hunter's intent.

for now, the boy watches and waits with taut muscle. he will not interrupt this hunt, nor spoil it with his feeble efforts. he is far more interested in the dark, looming shape to his right.

another step beneath the veil of night, quiet in a way that belies the samurai's size. the faintest crunch of thawing snow. shaded eyes do not drift, not even to find the stranger lurking. he can feel their stare but it does not deter him. broad shoulders shift with each precise step, closer and closer until the man surges forward. thunderous steps barreling toward the bedded elk, who rouse with bugles of panic. there is an elder cow, too slow and too weak to rise and stampede.

he's upon her in a breath; the flash of fang slicing through the night. meeting the elk's neck to hold and thrash. Isao maneuverers himself to cage the elk in beneath his weight. it's fight is futile. it cannot shake free from his grasp. slowly, it stills. he can feel it's rapid heartbeat pulse beneath his teeth, and can feel the last of it's raspy breaths thrum beneath his tongue. when the samurai and feel she is ready, he yanks. a pop of bone, a stilled breath.

when he feels the life drain, only then does he release. breaths ragged as he stands tall over his kill, eyes gliding toward the cover of the forest. waiting, expecting.

kaelith has always despised the sight of blood. no warrior by heart, its scent alone is wholly unpleasant. juxtaposed with this is the sight of a man entirely in his element, killing with the grace of a seasoned hunter. muscles taut beneath smooth fur, a raven against fresh snow.

a fine candidate for darukaal, he thinks, and with a friendly flick of his tail begins his approach. crouching, head lowered, tail tucked. he is not a threat, nor is he here to partake in another man's hard-earned meal. only to talk, when he is ready.

kaelith sits a polite distance away, and he waits.

finally there is movement. the samurai watches with an expression unreadable but calm. it is a mere boy who slinks toward him; submissive, unalarming. he does not bristle as he steps to stand beside his prize, head lowering to align with broad shoulders. the stranger is unassuming and small. a boyishness to soft features that Isao finds...pitiful. it is not often he feel inclined to share his meals, as he preferred his dinners spent in silence. but duty makes him feel inclined to put some meat on those frail bones.

"男の子," his voice is deep but smooth like pebbles beneath a tide. with a grunt, he takes another step away from the fresh kill. settles like a brute, chin tilted downward. an invitation. "あなたは食べる."

he understands not a word, only the inviting tilt of the samurai's chin. he wishes to share, and kaelith is happy to indulge him. he creeps forward, belly fur brushing the snow, and steals a cautious bite. a glance upward, to be sure, and then he takes another. his tail sways behind him, pleasantly warm with the benefit of a fresh meal.

he finishes, beginning fastidiously to clean the blood from his muzzle and paws. still he steals glances at the stranger, inquisitive.

Isao stands guard as the boy takes his fill. those gentle eyes of his oft flitting upward, making the samurai exhale a puff of amusement. he was not in the business of stealing food from boys, nor would he chase him off. he watches with what may be disinterest, waiting with virtue patience for the boy's stomach to become full. would it ever though, with how the boy pecks at the flesh like a bird?

"hmph." he grunts. brows drawn together as shaded eyes assess the pitiful wolf before him. cleaning his paws as if he was a cat. odd, is the word that comes to mind. he does not eat his fill with brutish intent; he savors it, while still trying to make out the engima that is his company tonight. the boy smells of others; it both sooths him and flares a red flag. it was good he had a group to care for him, bad that they'd let this boy out of their sights. not all were friendly enough to share a kill without sinister intentions.

when he is finished, he rises again. turns to face his company with a judgemental stare. it is clear his native tongue is not understood, and so he struggles to speak common tongue. a practice still new, picked up from his years spent traveling. "why you alone?" fragmented, broken. "fool. dangerous for boys."

"not a boy. a man." he corrects softly, although the word 'boy' does send a shiver down his spine. not alarm but something else. something nameless. it is new, but he does not fear it.

"i...search for new blood. warriors for darukaal. and i'm less threatening alone, which puts others at ease...not you though. you're stiff as a log." he gestures to the brute's rigid posture with a paw, amused.

"do i concern you? or are you in the habit of feeding fools?" a twitch of his lips at the corners, gentle laughter bubbling from them. in spite of the man's towering stature, he is not afraid. he leans closer, head tilted, and waits for his answer.

the silence is broken by an incredulous snort. the closest the samurai would get to a bellowing laugh, as he simply could not believe this boy was anything but. no muscle, no grit. just a softness that the cruelty of the world somehow had not crushed. a softness that in his village would've been met with death. "you not man." words not meant to insult, but factual. "man do not fear."

the boy moves closer. the samurai tenses, though he remains stalwart. the boy speaks of his people. the need for teeth and muscle. Isao had long quit selling his sword for other men to wield; life was simpler when he wasn't at the mercy of a lord or a contract. but perhaps if this darukaal allowed a boy to roam free, they truly needed a disciplined warrior. he mulls on the thought, brows pinched, scarred features thoughtful. "i am no log. samurai." he grunts, the tease taken all too literal. he looks away with a rough sigh. "do not like contracts. why darukaal looking for sword?"

laughter. gentle, bubbling. unsettling. the samurai's lip curls for just a moment in distaste. "duty. i cannot let a weakling wither. you need meat on bones. eh...muscle." he points out with a raised brow. leaning closer, he prods at a bird-like chest, unimpressed with the give. "small. boy," he repeats himself. then, he asks, "what is boy's name?"

the crownore boy blinks slowly. he inhales. when his voice finds him again, it is soft. not weak, but gentle, like a bird's.

"i have never feared being small," he murmurs, eyes distant. looking at something beyond isao's shoulder, beyond the trees, beyond this moment.

"only being overlooked. like a petal underfoot." the faintest smile ghosts across his lips, gentle and unguarded and the faintest bit mournful. there is nothing fierce about him, no rough edges. just warmth and wonder. he glances up at the samurai's face and squints, as if trying to memorize every detail.

"i am kaelith. kaelith crownore, of darukaal." the name is a dancing leaf upon the breeze, adrift.

"and i know i don't look like much. soft, all skin, not a fighting bone in me. but i choose this." his eyes, starlit pools, return to isao, and they are full of earnest light and something unspoken trembling just beneath the surface. it does not break. not yet.

"i don't want your contract. i don't want to hire you for your sword. that is not what we do."

"we invite you into a home. we make you one of us. in time you might find yourself a wife, a family, and it'll be as if darukaal was always home."

he smiles again, crooked and a little shy.

"and i do have meat on my bones, you know. it's just...stretched thin."

that playful flicker passes over him again.
"give it time, samurai. you might find i'm stronger than i look."