Post by Adam Masou on Apr 7, 2005 15:05:25 GMT -5
Tiny feet with tiny claws skittered over the dirt floor of the ranch style farm house. Far on the outskirts of Invernis the house stood quiet in the dusk of an impending spring. Within its walls only one stirred. A small pink nose twitching back and forth, beady eyes glowing in the shadows, the country field mouse hesitated. The place stank of blood, and killing. And not the good kind. Something was very unnatural and disturbing that even the small mind of the rodent was spurned by it.
Long shadows of bare wood furniture cast along the wall from the fading day, the darkness in stark contrast to the fiery light of sunset making the room appear to be an inferno. The mouse crept as silently as possible along the floor, shying from the open space and tracing its way along the walls. It was a strange place, not an animal pelt, a fur, or any bone anywhere. Everything was clay and wood all the drapes of silk and thread, but not a shank of wool to be seen anywhere. Sticking to the shadows it moved from room to empty room, checking thoroughly as it could stand to for signs of life. All it found was an empty house.
Into the kitchen. Very odd, no meat, no bottles of milk, no eggs in the cold trap in the floor. Only dried jars of beans and rice, strange pastes and grainy breads. If it had time to stop and eat, it would have. But then, even the food in this place did not feel so natural. Something simple felt… evil.
Onwards to the basement door it crept. Squeezing under the wooden barrier it tripped its way in almost total darkness down the earthen stairs of an old cold cellar. The air was chilly. Too chilly. It was the kind of cold that hung in the air where death lived. There was a lamp lit at the bottom of the stairs and for a moment the mouse froze, suspecting movement or noise. There was none. It continued over the floor towards the light. There it found what it was looking for- more than a dozen cobwebbed corpses frozen in silent and permanent, perfect agony littering the area. Wide eyes and twisted faces preserved flawlessly, hands and feet petrified in writhing positions coated by the sticky webbing of a silk making spider. The mouse did not move for long moments, not even its whiskers so much as twitched. From one side of the room there was movement detected, and the mouse snapped its head around to see the intruder.
A small spider, maybe the size of a palm was feeling its way silently across the floor. The dead air carried no sounds as its kaleidoscope eyes fixed on its prey. The mouse skittered back a few steps and the spider stopped. A stand off. One mouse versus one spider, the mouse thought it might stand a chance. But its nose twitched in fear, as beyond its foe appeared the red gleam of many hexa-focaled eyes in the darkness. The scene was at impasse as neither side dared move, though they all knew what the outcome of such a battle would be. The mouse ran through its options; fight, and die, the far window, too far. The stairs, but could they outrun it? It didn’t know, but the options were few.
Not a muscle moved for many moments, but in a sudden flash of fur and whiskers the mouse was on the move, up the stairs charging for the door. Behind it was the scurry of many feet, chittering of mandibles and the sticky noises of web being released. They were close, but the mouse pressed on, under the door and towards the kitchen window.
There was a break in the glass there, and so climbing up the ragged wooden grain of the counter the mouse headed for it. Stopping on the edge it nearly froze in horror to see dozens of spiders already beginning their ascent to its position. Hurriedly the rodent dove through the break in the glass pane, cutting its leg along the way, and toppled the few feet down to the ground before limping as fast as possible out over the field beyond the malevolence within.
When it was halfway there it stopped and in the twilight it could see the spiders had stopped at the window and were pooling there. Why had they not followed? Perhaps they were confined by their master. It did not matter now, the hunt was over. Turning wearily the mouse hobbled the rest of the way towards the tree line.
~~~
On a low hanging branch of a sycamore tree a figure sat. The large humanoid was watching the tiny messenger cross the field, still and observant as a frowning gargoyle. As the furred ally approached a human hand reached down from the branch, fingertips grazing the grass and allowed the mouse to climb into the warm pocket made by the palm. Lifting it, the man-beast brought the mouse to his face. Beady eyes shone against the large pupils set into stony colored irises. The mouse twitched its nose and lay down in the man’s hand to lick the cut on its leg. There was an audible chuff. “You’re hurt.” He spoke to the rodent in monotone. The mouse was too weary to give much of a response. “But I am glad for your safe return, friend.”<br>
Craning its little neck to look up at its savior the mouse chirped its report. The man said nothing, only listened intently. When all was finished he lifted his head, eyes peering at the rising moon to the west from between shocks of wild, dark hair. It was a lot to digest. Claws that had unsheathed on the opposite hand gripped harder into the wood of the branch as feet shifted onto the balls in order to keep balanced.
“Thank you for your help, little friend.” The deep voice spoke again before setting the mouse beside him on the tree. The small mammal looked up in inquiry to its Master. But the beast man did not say anything else. He sat in silent thought. The Kiryuudo were back, and they were on the move. Why had they come here? What had Kirihito left the Homelands outside of Tsalaya for to come here? Was food scarce? Couldn’t be, Kirihito did not eat meat. He removed himself from the balance. It was because of him, wasn’t it? The beast man closed his eyes.
There were options. He could tell the Queen. He could tell the Archaeologist. Or could he? No, this was obviously a blood grudge and the laws of the Yuudo had not changed. Though they were not on their lands, the laws were still valid. It was to be resolved within their own circles. No one else had to find out about Kirihito, who he was, what he was. It could be harmful to all of them, all of their brothers. Even Kirihito knew this, and even the insect handlers would abide by such mandates. No one else would be involved.
There was a rustle of feathers above them. “Fuyuki.” Adam Masou breathed in the darkness. “Go to the others. Tell them everything. I will return before the sunrise.” The head of the redtailed hawk tilted, its sharp eyes hungrily staring at the wounded mouse. Adam had never before interfered with the hunt, yet even the hawk knew this animal was exonerated from becoming a meal for his bravery this night. The head bobbed, and silent as a shadow the bird lifted into the air and disappeared into the forest’s depths.
The beast lord looked over to his fallen comrade. “Do not worry. You shall be cared for this night.” He said softly, scooping the wounded animal into his hand gently. There was barely a rustle as calloused bare feet landed in the grasses below the tree. In the old sycamore was a small hollow right at the base, and the mouse was placed inside. “You will be watched over, though you cannot see your friends. Do not worry. Rest, and become well. Your sacrifice has been greatly appreciated.” The rodent nodded, already slipping into sleep. When it blinked its bleary eyes, Adam was already gone.
Ban and the others were waiting for him. He got what he needed. So why did he linger? He asked himself as he sat alone amidst the high grasses of the wheat field. Kirihito and He were mortal enemies, even though they always had a strong magnetic pull to one another. It worried him. There was the prophecy to be concerned about. Yet Kirihito had reason to follow him, after all. There was a blood grudge, wasn’t there? There always was, one side wrongs the other and then again and it goes on in that vicious cycle, never ending as it had for two millennia.
Yet there was something more. He could feel it in his gut, something that made his muscles clench in fear and repulsion. Something bigger was going on. This was no simple blood grudge. Yet for now there was nothing to do, nothing that could be done without more information. He would not give away his presence until the opportune moment. Until then, he would wait, and he would watch with both gray eyes trained right on that house.
Long shadows of bare wood furniture cast along the wall from the fading day, the darkness in stark contrast to the fiery light of sunset making the room appear to be an inferno. The mouse crept as silently as possible along the floor, shying from the open space and tracing its way along the walls. It was a strange place, not an animal pelt, a fur, or any bone anywhere. Everything was clay and wood all the drapes of silk and thread, but not a shank of wool to be seen anywhere. Sticking to the shadows it moved from room to empty room, checking thoroughly as it could stand to for signs of life. All it found was an empty house.
Into the kitchen. Very odd, no meat, no bottles of milk, no eggs in the cold trap in the floor. Only dried jars of beans and rice, strange pastes and grainy breads. If it had time to stop and eat, it would have. But then, even the food in this place did not feel so natural. Something simple felt… evil.
Onwards to the basement door it crept. Squeezing under the wooden barrier it tripped its way in almost total darkness down the earthen stairs of an old cold cellar. The air was chilly. Too chilly. It was the kind of cold that hung in the air where death lived. There was a lamp lit at the bottom of the stairs and for a moment the mouse froze, suspecting movement or noise. There was none. It continued over the floor towards the light. There it found what it was looking for- more than a dozen cobwebbed corpses frozen in silent and permanent, perfect agony littering the area. Wide eyes and twisted faces preserved flawlessly, hands and feet petrified in writhing positions coated by the sticky webbing of a silk making spider. The mouse did not move for long moments, not even its whiskers so much as twitched. From one side of the room there was movement detected, and the mouse snapped its head around to see the intruder.
A small spider, maybe the size of a palm was feeling its way silently across the floor. The dead air carried no sounds as its kaleidoscope eyes fixed on its prey. The mouse skittered back a few steps and the spider stopped. A stand off. One mouse versus one spider, the mouse thought it might stand a chance. But its nose twitched in fear, as beyond its foe appeared the red gleam of many hexa-focaled eyes in the darkness. The scene was at impasse as neither side dared move, though they all knew what the outcome of such a battle would be. The mouse ran through its options; fight, and die, the far window, too far. The stairs, but could they outrun it? It didn’t know, but the options were few.
Not a muscle moved for many moments, but in a sudden flash of fur and whiskers the mouse was on the move, up the stairs charging for the door. Behind it was the scurry of many feet, chittering of mandibles and the sticky noises of web being released. They were close, but the mouse pressed on, under the door and towards the kitchen window.
There was a break in the glass there, and so climbing up the ragged wooden grain of the counter the mouse headed for it. Stopping on the edge it nearly froze in horror to see dozens of spiders already beginning their ascent to its position. Hurriedly the rodent dove through the break in the glass pane, cutting its leg along the way, and toppled the few feet down to the ground before limping as fast as possible out over the field beyond the malevolence within.
When it was halfway there it stopped and in the twilight it could see the spiders had stopped at the window and were pooling there. Why had they not followed? Perhaps they were confined by their master. It did not matter now, the hunt was over. Turning wearily the mouse hobbled the rest of the way towards the tree line.
~~~
On a low hanging branch of a sycamore tree a figure sat. The large humanoid was watching the tiny messenger cross the field, still and observant as a frowning gargoyle. As the furred ally approached a human hand reached down from the branch, fingertips grazing the grass and allowed the mouse to climb into the warm pocket made by the palm. Lifting it, the man-beast brought the mouse to his face. Beady eyes shone against the large pupils set into stony colored irises. The mouse twitched its nose and lay down in the man’s hand to lick the cut on its leg. There was an audible chuff. “You’re hurt.” He spoke to the rodent in monotone. The mouse was too weary to give much of a response. “But I am glad for your safe return, friend.”<br>
Craning its little neck to look up at its savior the mouse chirped its report. The man said nothing, only listened intently. When all was finished he lifted his head, eyes peering at the rising moon to the west from between shocks of wild, dark hair. It was a lot to digest. Claws that had unsheathed on the opposite hand gripped harder into the wood of the branch as feet shifted onto the balls in order to keep balanced.
“Thank you for your help, little friend.” The deep voice spoke again before setting the mouse beside him on the tree. The small mammal looked up in inquiry to its Master. But the beast man did not say anything else. He sat in silent thought. The Kiryuudo were back, and they were on the move. Why had they come here? What had Kirihito left the Homelands outside of Tsalaya for to come here? Was food scarce? Couldn’t be, Kirihito did not eat meat. He removed himself from the balance. It was because of him, wasn’t it? The beast man closed his eyes.
There were options. He could tell the Queen. He could tell the Archaeologist. Or could he? No, this was obviously a blood grudge and the laws of the Yuudo had not changed. Though they were not on their lands, the laws were still valid. It was to be resolved within their own circles. No one else had to find out about Kirihito, who he was, what he was. It could be harmful to all of them, all of their brothers. Even Kirihito knew this, and even the insect handlers would abide by such mandates. No one else would be involved.
There was a rustle of feathers above them. “Fuyuki.” Adam Masou breathed in the darkness. “Go to the others. Tell them everything. I will return before the sunrise.” The head of the redtailed hawk tilted, its sharp eyes hungrily staring at the wounded mouse. Adam had never before interfered with the hunt, yet even the hawk knew this animal was exonerated from becoming a meal for his bravery this night. The head bobbed, and silent as a shadow the bird lifted into the air and disappeared into the forest’s depths.
The beast lord looked over to his fallen comrade. “Do not worry. You shall be cared for this night.” He said softly, scooping the wounded animal into his hand gently. There was barely a rustle as calloused bare feet landed in the grasses below the tree. In the old sycamore was a small hollow right at the base, and the mouse was placed inside. “You will be watched over, though you cannot see your friends. Do not worry. Rest, and become well. Your sacrifice has been greatly appreciated.” The rodent nodded, already slipping into sleep. When it blinked its bleary eyes, Adam was already gone.
Ban and the others were waiting for him. He got what he needed. So why did he linger? He asked himself as he sat alone amidst the high grasses of the wheat field. Kirihito and He were mortal enemies, even though they always had a strong magnetic pull to one another. It worried him. There was the prophecy to be concerned about. Yet Kirihito had reason to follow him, after all. There was a blood grudge, wasn’t there? There always was, one side wrongs the other and then again and it goes on in that vicious cycle, never ending as it had for two millennia.
Yet there was something more. He could feel it in his gut, something that made his muscles clench in fear and repulsion. Something bigger was going on. This was no simple blood grudge. Yet for now there was nothing to do, nothing that could be done without more information. He would not give away his presence until the opportune moment. Until then, he would wait, and he would watch with both gray eyes trained right on that house.