08-05-2008, 01:05 AM
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In one day, the world could change. Ahren had known that long before now, long before he had become what he was now. He had met Hollow’s son in a ragged, run down toy store, and set the boy in motion. There was no justification for such an act, but he felt that someone else had to take a stand. Someone had to do something he couldn’t do, not yet, not ever again. Then, wonder of wonders, his son had contracted some sickness that made him weak and mad. Ahren had dragged him to the place he called home, explained the situation and left knowing he could no longer abandon the boy. Not in the condition he was in. Not while that sickness was in his blood.
So he had returned, and begun to gather up what small things he had. It wasn’t much—Ahren carried his life with him. It was here though, that the scent came again. A sickly sweet thing, like wilting flowers. The hair along his spine rose. He had left the crossbow with the strange pack and carried only the knife and the army back on his back. Slowly, cautiously, he followed the scent. It began to mingle with Laruku’s and it was only then that Ahren realized with terrible certainty that the same disease in his son was now in his best friend (lover? He didn’t know what they were) and it would kill him slowly, as it was trying to do with Jasper.
Then all too suddenly he saw him, writhing on the ground, and his breath caught in his throat. Ahren rushed forward, dropped to a squat, and put one hand on his companion’s back. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay,” he said, just managing to keep the worry out of his voice.
In one day, the world could change. Ahren had known that long before now, long before he had become what he was now. He had met Hollow’s son in a ragged, run down toy store, and set the boy in motion. There was no justification for such an act, but he felt that someone else had to take a stand. Someone had to do something he couldn’t do, not yet, not ever again. Then, wonder of wonders, his son had contracted some sickness that made him weak and mad. Ahren had dragged him to the place he called home, explained the situation and left knowing he could no longer abandon the boy. Not in the condition he was in. Not while that sickness was in his blood.
So he had returned, and begun to gather up what small things he had. It wasn’t much—Ahren carried his life with him. It was here though, that the scent came again. A sickly sweet thing, like wilting flowers. The hair along his spine rose. He had left the crossbow with the strange pack and carried only the knife and the army back on his back. Slowly, cautiously, he followed the scent. It began to mingle with Laruku’s and it was only then that Ahren realized with terrible certainty that the same disease in his son was now in his best friend (lover? He didn’t know what they were) and it would kill him slowly, as it was trying to do with Jasper.
Then all too suddenly he saw him, writhing on the ground, and his breath caught in his throat. Ahren rushed forward, dropped to a squat, and put one hand on his companion’s back. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay,” he said, just managing to keep the worry out of his voice.