The sun’s dead and gone by the time the white ridges of Luneshale come into view.
Niño readjusts his grip on the boy’s scruff and pads into camp.
He’s spent, but doesn’t go to the den where his mate might be waiting.
Instead he tracks into one of the white stone chambers.
A cold room.
The desert is overwhelmed with cold in autumn nights.
He drops the child onto the marble flooring and leans himself against the far wall, panting.
Breath frosting the air.
Large paws acting as a barricade from escape.
“Intenta correr y te llevo los ojos.”
Hound's deep voice is dry and jarring.
Only then does he give the cub a once-over, perceiving the glint of strangely mismatched eyes.
Finally, he is released from harsh jaws, and met with harsh floor in their place. The day had been long. He should've been in bed with his mother by now.
The boy, inexperienced even in the common tongue, swivels over-sized ears towards the monster as he utters his threat; foreign and quick, but the message is conveyed well enough. His ears flattened to his head and he shuffled backwards, finding the wall. As far away as he could get.
He shakes with fear, the silhouette of the much larger wolf looms in the doorway, pale eyes stare down at him, so hateful, so angry.
His own eyes began to water.
The boy, inexperienced even in the common tongue, swivels over-sized ears towards the monster as he utters his threat; foreign and quick, but the message is conveyed well enough. His ears flattened to his head and he shuffled backwards, finding the wall. As far away as he could get.
He shakes with fear, the silhouette of the much larger wolf looms in the doorway, pale eyes stare down at him, so hateful, so angry.
His own eyes began to water.
6 hours ago
He just looks on with those dead eyes.
Sees tears.
Cowering.
Weakness.
This one won’t make it.
Boy doesn’t realize he’s just been saved from the gated palace.
Fresas; the real enemy.
And their religion of narcissism.
The hound disappears out the cave. Returns with a scaled haunch jammed in the side of his jaws.
An armadillo thigh.
Drops it near the whelp.
He stands over him.
Contemplating.
A tensing of claws on stone.
If he took the eyes, he wouldn’t have to deal with the tears.
Doesn’t.
Stalks to the side of the chamber and lifts an arm to rid the miles of dirt.
Because something occurred to him.
A blind boy has no use.
But a boy who could see was a falcon.
And that trembling body in the corner?
Wasn’t so different than a boy in the gutters of Guanajuato.
Sees tears.
Cowering.
Weakness.
This one won’t make it.
Boy doesn’t realize he’s just been saved from the gated palace.
Fresas; the real enemy.
And their religion of narcissism.
The hound disappears out the cave. Returns with a scaled haunch jammed in the side of his jaws.
An armadillo thigh.
Drops it near the whelp.
He stands over him.
Contemplating.
A tensing of claws on stone.
If he took the eyes, he wouldn’t have to deal with the tears.
Doesn’t.
Stalks to the side of the chamber and lifts an arm to rid the miles of dirt.
Because something occurred to him.
A blind boy has no use.
But a boy who could see was a falcon.
And that trembling body in the corner?
Wasn’t so different than a boy in the gutters of Guanajuato.
6 hours ago
The man disappears, and for a moment Nokht is alone. His eyes find the floor at his paws, rather than the entrance, and he sniffles; now because that pain in his side was starting to ache. Adrenaline could not be relied on forever.
He tosses meat to him, and for a second the boy stops his sniveling. He looks on with trepidation, and pulls the meat back towards himself. The thought of poison doesn't cross his mind, but still, he hesitates, looking up at cold eyes, searching for permission.
He always showed adults respect, even here, where it felt misplaced. He was a good son.
The shaking had stopped at least, though he still kept himself small. He finally had the guts to summon words into his throat.
He tosses meat to him, and for a second the boy stops his sniveling. He looks on with trepidation, and pulls the meat back towards himself. The thought of poison doesn't cross his mind, but still, he hesitates, looking up at cold eyes, searching for permission.
He always showed adults respect, even here, where it felt misplaced. He was a good son.
The shaking had stopped at least, though he still kept himself small. He finally had the guts to summon words into his throat.
..m'I.. wanna go.. home..
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