Post by Nevan J. Blake on Nov 26, 2014 18:13:45 GMT -5
Long shadows stretched their greedy hands and swirled around the scrawny witch boy as he walked down the cobblestone street, careful to avoid the wide swaths of ice that his wood-heeled red boots surely couldn’t handle. The shadows Nevan didn’t mind so much. Dusk made him comfortable, even if he didn’t draw power from the shadows that grew and lengthened it felt like he had more strength. It was the ice and the cold he hated on this early winter night. And it was the hunger scratching at his belly and making his skin pull close to his bones that he hated. But it was not the night that made him uncomfortable.
Most of City dwellers citizens had already fled to the warmth of their homes and Nevan fully intended to join them as soon as possible. He had been out making a run of potion to a secretive old woman who, for whatever reason, wanted her potion delivered in the dead of night. Nevan had, of course, complied and now her money sat in his pocket. He would buy a leg of lamb from the butcher across from his family’s store. That would finally ease the hunger after two days of not eating. The mere thought of it made Nevan smile and his mouth watered. The last food he had was a rat Torin had caught and left on his pillow, which he had boiled into stew and split with his mother.
The witch quickened his pace and turned down one of the many dark alleys. He had been following in the footsteps of patrolling hounds ever since he had been jumped by a vampire but he was too hungry to bother with that now. The mere concept of food was enough to send him down the dark path without a second thought.
Nevan was dressed in his usual pointed cap with a fur lined cloak for warmth. Torin was strung across his knotty shoulders, purring gently and occasionally running his rough tongue over Nevan’s hair to try to comfort him. However as soon as the street lights faded and Nevan and Torin were left in darkness, only the half moon and stars lighting their way, Torin’s gravely purrs died abruptly mid breathe. He felt the cat tense and tiny claws dug into his shoulder as Torin leaned forwards, his ears straining in two directions at one while his twitching tail thumped against the opposite side of Nevan’s throat. Against the faint scars from the vampire’s fangs.
Torin was unnerved; by nature of being a cat he was easily set on edge so Nevan just brushed it off and walked deeper into the alley without concern or second thought.
Most of City dwellers citizens had already fled to the warmth of their homes and Nevan fully intended to join them as soon as possible. He had been out making a run of potion to a secretive old woman who, for whatever reason, wanted her potion delivered in the dead of night. Nevan had, of course, complied and now her money sat in his pocket. He would buy a leg of lamb from the butcher across from his family’s store. That would finally ease the hunger after two days of not eating. The mere thought of it made Nevan smile and his mouth watered. The last food he had was a rat Torin had caught and left on his pillow, which he had boiled into stew and split with his mother.
The witch quickened his pace and turned down one of the many dark alleys. He had been following in the footsteps of patrolling hounds ever since he had been jumped by a vampire but he was too hungry to bother with that now. The mere concept of food was enough to send him down the dark path without a second thought.
Nevan was dressed in his usual pointed cap with a fur lined cloak for warmth. Torin was strung across his knotty shoulders, purring gently and occasionally running his rough tongue over Nevan’s hair to try to comfort him. However as soon as the street lights faded and Nevan and Torin were left in darkness, only the half moon and stars lighting their way, Torin’s gravely purrs died abruptly mid breathe. He felt the cat tense and tiny claws dug into his shoulder as Torin leaned forwards, his ears straining in two directions at one while his twitching tail thumped against the opposite side of Nevan’s throat. Against the faint scars from the vampire’s fangs.
Torin was unnerved; by nature of being a cat he was easily set on edge so Nevan just brushed it off and walked deeper into the alley without concern or second thought.