Luneshale Pass oro

soto’s copper penny’s gone. sangre’s scarce too.

soto ranges. he’s managed to find a stale wisp of arslan along the bajada, but it fades over a belt of shale.

his lone eye maps the open wasteland as he settles into careful thought.

rawboned and spindly now, what winter coat the boy might have grown hung loose like an oversized coat.

the bones of a mouse spun in his mouth as if he were tying a knot with a cherry stem. they offered no more nutrients, but the marrow was still appetizing enough to ward off the pains of hunger.

and so the little sparrow pressed onward, unaware of the one-eyed vulture who lingered ahead.

tysm for joining o:

 

movement and sound alert soto he’s got company. 

a starveling carrying a face strangely familiar. 

something held in his mouth. 

soto turns to the boy with tail up, goldcoin eye glittering. quién eres? he sifts out the scents on the boy’s pelt. 

nothing. just dust and desert, and the faint hollowness of hunger.

there is a shift of movement, and sparrow stiffens with a cobra's glare. he slunk forward, aiming to slither past the man without any intention of conversion.

but the stranger speaks, and all sense of caution flees from the boy at the sound of his mama's tongue.

he spun to look upon the stranger with the same hopefully familiarity he might offer his lost family. mouse bones are clumsily spat to the floor.

"hablas igual que yo?"

he doesn’t expect conversation from the boy. half the wolves in this side of the world have left him with a poor impression of their intelligence. 

his brow rises as the boy speaks and in that moment soto is made aware of how homesick he’d become. 

si. he answers as the bones tumble into the grey sand. he reaches and sniffs the boy’s fur again. no sign of company - no risk of rifling in some other gang’s business. it could all be a ruse, but hope cannot be artifice; the boy’s sorrel gaze is aflame in it. 

and so, he states again: quién eres?

the stranger confirmed what sparrow had internally pleaded for, and a breath of relief is exhaled. relief for what he did not know, but there was a great sense of comfort found in hearing the language of his family once more.

the question is again asked of him, and this time the boy digested it fully. "soy sparrow," he answered while looking to the man for any trace of familial recognition.

he finds none, but had little expectation to. "y tú eres?"

burning in that singular eye is a dare: i dare you to one of my enemies - one of the thousand sent by the many-faced syndicates at home.

but the boy is too poorly, and his expression too earnest.

seconds pass as soto mulls his answer. the name is unknown to him, and he certainly does not look like the hard-faced boys from back home.

soto. he relents, unwinding in the reluctant manner of an asp forced to move from its golden pool of sunlight on the trail. adonde vas?

soto. a name he does not know.

what scrutiny might have come from the man was not picked up on by the boy. another question came, and to this one sparrow sunk some.

it forced him to swallow a hard truth he'd been avoiding thus far.

"no sé," he revealed with a shrug. "no tengo a donde ir." he'd been wandering wherever his stomach had taken him, and even that had forsaken him to sand and ruin.

the wary side of soto reminds himself that any unknown is an enemy; he is the rabbit, and the world a stage of predators. enemies come from every side, of every fang, beak, and talon -- this could very well be the expert plot of the wildlings north.

but the boy does not carry their scent, and no mark of khusobek lingers on him. that he spoke soto's tongue was no consolation -- he recalled nino's last moments had been insulted by the stilted speech of the wildling band's seeming leader. soto had not stopped to listen.

this boy's words were mellifluous enough. he drags a wary gaze back over him, as if expecting khusobek's ropes to spring out from under his mercury pelt any moment.

finally, he decides. spitting into the sand, soto speaks. venga conmigo.

apologies for the wait!

there is silence, and then words of commandment. the boy visibly livened some, a flash of hope dancing across his eyes. he wanted to ask if soto had food, water, but he decided in a moment's heartbeat that it did not matter.

the man could be leading the boy to death and suffering and still it would be better than sparrow turning away. 

if soto led him to ruin, at least then he would not die alone. 

and so paws began to trail after the man when finally they moved, a voiceless pledge to follow wherever it was the sand snake took him.

no apologies necessary!

soto listens for the boys light step on the shale. they move in synchronity, their long shadows cast before them. 

he roves towards their base. not so far from camp where the boundaries are flanked by thinning scent, he stops. measuring the landmarks of that empty place he moved towards a hunched bush, and began to dig. 

a cache set there by he and fiamma, in case their base was raided. from its stony depths he produces a ragged strap of deer back, pushing it towards the boy with a grunt.

please accept this award for your patience with me 

sparrow does not speak as he slinks alongside the desert man, a pained growl bubbling in his stomach that causes the boy to wince. 

their steps eventually halt, and from the ground is dug a most glorious sight. 

the boy does not wait for soto to push the slab of meat any closer before he springs forward with a savage growl, tearing the ragged chunk of venison away as saliva pools from the corners of his mouth. 

he spun around, back now turned against the desert snake as if expecting the man to take back what had already been offered. sparrow would not give him the opportunity. he tore into the meat, not caring for any sand or muck that might yet cling to it.

he nearly choked on the first strip he broke free, coughing and sputtering as he continued to ravage the meal.

lol not to worry! <3

he's only just unearthed the thing when suddenly the wastrel besides him springs forwards, nearly shoving him out of the way.

if soto hadn't heard that piteous whine seconds before, he might have cuffed the boy -- but there's a softness in his heart for young children, a softness that in his past life had cost him dearly.

he steps back as the feral thing whips around, anticipating reprisal. soto only laughs, the tip of his tail arcing catlike as he walks away.

one ear turns back at the sound of spluttering, but this resolves in seconds, and soto does not look back. he will follow, or he will not; soto has lost nothing in giving him a cache they were unlikely to use.

one small meal for the boy. enough to show a breadcrumb of kindness. or perhaps, just enough to stave him along another day.