Firefly Glen born of cages

He reciprocated her apprehension and began to round his way too her – to any one else, the nondirect approach might have been appreciated, but Kitsch’s mind suddenly flashed back to the happening – how he had approached her, quietly – silently – as would a predator stalk its prey. He was back, she thought as she saw the man’s dark coat, and West isn’t here. The wastrel berated herself for allowing herself to become so flippant with her wellbeing when the safety of West’s and Libeccio’s wings were mere miles away. Why did she leave the forest? Had she forgotten what happens to pretty little things who stray from their homes?
 
The girl then went weak of both strength and will power – any ability she had to fight her assailant had been surrendered to an supreme sense of fear. Kitsch shut her eyes tightly and steeled her body, hoping that it would be over sooner if she did not resist. But then the man’s voice jarred her from her spiral – it was not his deep, gruff voice that was produced from the brutish maw. No, that voice repeated in her head, over and over again – it is the sins of another you pay for, it is the sins of another you pay for, it is the sins of another you pay for – and this was not it.
 
One aquamarine eye peeked open, then two, and Kitsch saw that it was indeed not him.The girl shuffled her feet uncomfortably, completely overcome with embarrassment over her extreme reaction. He probably thought of her as a fool.  Kitsch’s ears splayed back once more, but this time, her demeanor gave off an air of regret and silent apology. ”Hi,” was all she was able to mutter, muted by her bashfulness. If he only understood…