Ever feel eyes watching you?
Turn around and nobody, I do mean nobody’s there. You be the only one sitting upon a snow-dusted bench, scanning a deserted town square more barren than a desert. But still, that niggling sensation persists. Like an annoying child tugging at your coattails.
“M-mister…”
Indeed, much like that, a light tug barley enough to even be recognized, but pulling the soft jacket-end taut regardless.
“Mister!”
She had no idea where the feeling came from, which was odd for one so old. Her neck languidly turned side to side, scanning the freshly frozen cobbles, eyes snagging on dark Bush clumps pushing out between smooth, grey stones.
“The forest grows bolder every year,” she muttered like steam lost in the wind.
“HEY MISTER!”
A bellow slammed into her from below. Pale palms slapped onto her ears in a distinctly human gesture, rubbing slowly to sooth the ringing while her neck snapped down at the offending party.
…
oH
Oh.
There was a child pulling her coattails.
...
Still, pulling them.
...
No other part of him moved except for his right arm, erratically jabbing her tresses down as he stared up at her with eyes like bright yellow pearls. They locked gazes, his with profound innocence as he
Continued,
Pulling,
Her jacket.
She slowly cupped his tiny hand with both her hers and dragged it away from her scarlet jacket, his hand burned like an ice block, and she stooped to stare into his half-lidded eyes, “Yes, young one?”
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Warm.
Spitfire creature with eyes like burning orange comets was warm. He felt drowsy ‘n sleeeeepy. His eye-lids rose and fell like lazy waves.
Wh'as he doin’ again?
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‘t important?
Prob’ly not. He couldn’t feel Korri around. Neither nor that rat with the papers and ugly ink stains. No worries then.
He could just…
NO!
That would be impolite. Dad always said he had-ta have them manners cause they maketh man. He would very much like to be man.
“C-c-can I sleep here, m-mister?” the jingle of bells floated alongside his voice in spite of stopping the worst of it. This stuff was hard.
The man-shaped blob of orange flames stilled, tongues of bright orange-yellow licked blue at the edges. An upward line bisected the space where a mouth would be.
“Brave little thing. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”
They dared tease him! Cold brewed in his chest and heat dusted his cheeks. The hail he wished to unleash had tripped and knocked itself cold, caught in his throat while his tongue painted him a fool. The tentacle tumbled around his mouth.
The being snorted, a clumsy smile crossed its bright yellow-white face , slowly it released his hand and patted the blackened bench-wood to her right. He noticed, limbs like glowing, blinding bulbs moved slow, just like he did sometimes. Just like Mead when Lilly Wind took him to meet her.
She continued her voice a bit more melodious, like his mother’s almost, “Jump up, little one. My name is Tara and I am no man. What’s your name?”
“Y- Boy- HUP!” he did a small jump. He anchored his fingers around the bench and clumsily clawed himself up like a lazy cat. Letting his legs flop as he rolled sideways, back to the back-rest, left arm underneath him and coiling back into a roll of human child.
Hands grasped his sides and lifted, a warm, soft something slid under his head. Very, very warm.
His hair rustled in the frigid currents, beanie burrowed by his mother and jacket nowhere he could find. He h-h-hated the process of finding it. All his friends were greedy... greedy!
Thought fled from his mind as warmth cascaded over his scalp like showering with hot water. The warmth moved from his eyebrow and combed up and down to the end of his hair.
“Lady?” he murmured, eyes prickling with a yawn wide enough to swallow a horse.
“Correct. Such a smart boooy,” her words were slow and sweet, like maple syrup, and she punctuated them with a slow, preening pressure rolling down to the side of his neck. Dainty fingers the color of chestnuts ran through his hair and he relaxed, sinking down a bit. Her legs were very comfortable, like pillowy flesh despite being made of molten fire. He refused to question it.
Not that he could with…
It….
...
...
…
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…
…
She rest her palm on the boy’s hair, idly twirling a few soft, black strands while he slept, still and silent as a corpse. He’d tuckered out quickly, no surprise there. Kid had the ugliest eye bag she’d ever seen. She could mistake him for a raccoon with only half its mask.
For all she knew he was a raccoon. Earlier, a shake had taken her fingers on glimpsing too many teeth. Not to mention the wolves of winter chill, far too persistent in their attempts at stealing his heat. Not brave enough to stick 'round her though. He was lucky, in that sense.
What were the chances?
...
...
...
She’d long abandoned her jacket; the scarlet coat seemed much more fitting around the shoulders of someone who didn't burn like bonfire. Really, who sent a child out in these conditions without a pelt? Least give ‘em a knife to make one.
“Boy,”
The name tasted sour on her tongue. For such a little bean he was audacious, if nothing else.
She slumped against the bench, tearing her gaze away from the boy and opting to take a nap herself. She’d nothing better to do. The day had yet begun.
After silence stretched past and clouds crawled over the dim sun, her breaths slowed and turned to a shallow hum. Her head bobbed to the side and towards the boy, coming to a rest on the soft black-wood bench. A small, bean-shaped child, covered by a scarlet coat-turned blanket, lay nestled to her right. A tiny head of brown hair poke out from the space between her palm and thigh.
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If you looked closely, her head rest on nothing. Her long locks of gold and brown smushed up and sunk into pillow visible to one who slept. A pillow of nothing but air.
Nothing at all.
Nothing a man could see.