Ever vigilant, the general sharpens his blades. Daily life is one conflict after the next, so to have improperly maintained equipment is asking for death. Satisfied with their edge, he sheathes his blades. A true warrior ensures that while he is always prepared for war, he does not become it.
Adjusting himself, he repositions into a spot with a better sightline, settling into a squat overlooking the town. This wasn’t a responsibility he wanted—protecting the people here. His kind aren’t protectors in the first place; the sort of sedentary lifestyle it requires being antithesis to his hunter blood. But… They welcomed him. Took him into their arms despite the insurmountable differences between them. He would not respond to that kindness with apathy.
And so he will protect, though he is not a protector.
The general's eyes catch on a wisp of movement, and while it was brief enough to be considered a trick of the mind, the general leaps to the streets below. His mind is sharp—a razor blade to analyze his enemies. It cannot be tricked, which can only mean there’s actually something skulking around.
He raises his nose to the air, sniffing. A hint of something foul and alien assaults his senses, making him snort. It’s close. He thinks, slinking into the shadows of a nearby structure. The general sits motionlessly, fully aware the creature won’t dare venture out if it thinks it’s in danger.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
There!
Waving around like it has a mind of its own, the creature's tail peeks out from behind a wall. It wiggles tauntingly, ridiculing him for hiding amidst the shadows, but he remains calm. A foolish warrior is one who lets his actions be clouded by emotions, and the general is anything but a fool. Slowly, silently, the general weaves between the wooden beams blocking his path, getting in position to strike.
From this close, he can distinguish the tail as being pitch black and similar in shape to a rat’s, but far, far longer. The tail undulates, sliding to the right and getting closer to him. The general strikes! leaping from the darkness to pin it down. His blades sink into the ground, missing the tail by a hair's breadth as it's pulled away from him, like it knew he was there and was toying with him.
The general lets out a growl but stays where he is, not willing to display any further expression of his anger than that. He remains there, his muscles tensed for it to reappear at any moment. He’s not willing to run after it into a trap, but if it thinks it can just come in here and threaten his people, it had best think again.
Satisfied after a minute or two of waiting, he begins the trip back to his abode. Powerful limbs propel him upward, jumping between abandoned frameworks on the way. His feet land softly on the tough material making up the floor of his home, or whatever you’d call the collection of containers putting a roof over his head. It’s not as if the people didn’t offer him a place of his own with them, but he knows where he belongs.
The comfort of a soft bed is nothing more than a distraction, and he will not abandon his post for something so superficial. Checking his weapons before putting them away, the general returns to his ledge, once again settling down to watch the surroundings. His body relaxes, the muscles of his limbs going slack into some semblance of comfort, but not his eyes. They remain alert and in focus, scanning his surroundings.
The ringing of a bell reaches his ears, causing him to stir. Every night the villagers work together to create a communal feast that they share, and it appears that it is around that time. The general is reluctant to leave his rooftop when there’s a monster about, but he’s aware that without sustenance, he cannot function as their guardian.
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Hopping down is easier than getting up, and their place of communal dining is not far from his abode, so the trip is quick. He finds a portion of food set aside for him already, and he gives them a nod in thanks for hunting this meal. They smile at him and begin eating their own meal at a table a good distance away from him. This suits him fine and is no slight on their part; in fact, he prefers it. The time when he is eating is the time in which he reflects on his experiences of the day.
What could I have done better? He thinks as he chews. Should I have chased it instead of allowing it to leave and grow stronger?
No, he is the only protector here. If he were to fall, then so too would these people. He supposes he must train further, unable to find a specific flaw in his course of action. If one cannot think of a method in which they failed, yet they did, then it is the fault of the body, which must be refined.
The villagers speak together joyously, and he takes a bit of pride in ensuring that they may continue to live in such merriment. There are times he wishes he could understand them, though he knows that wishes are inherently unattainable; it is their purpose, after all.
Rising from his meal, he leaves in silence. He does not wish to interrupt them; their moments should instead be cherished together. He will return to his watch instead; it is his purpose, after all.
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Rising from a brief slumber, the general sniffs the air. His eyes narrow as he picks up a tinge of the long-tailed beast faintly hiding in the other smells. Snorting derisively, he stretches his limbs and follows the scent, his blades on full display. If this creature thinks it can enter the general's territory when he sleeps, then it will find he has not forgotten his hunter's blood.
This time, the general does not hide. He proudly leaps from structure to structure, violence in his thoughts and actions. Jumping down to where he first found the beast, his feet press down onto the soft ground, flattening it. It’s here, the stench is overwhelming.
Rearing up from the other side of the clearing is the tail, and the general can’t help but wonder if it has an intelligence of its own separate from its body. Dashing forward towards the tail he slashes, his speed allowing him to slice into it lightly as it gets pulled away. The texture felt almost rubbery as he cut it, the wound also refusing to bleed.
Unwilling to let it escape again and come for his wards, he sprints after it, the sound of his feet hitting the ground almost silent. Every time he thinks he has it cornered, he finds it even longer than anticipated, winding around the villagers' constructions. What is this fiend?
The general forgets himself, his stoic attitude gone as he chases his prey; enjoyment of the hunt all that remains in his mind. His hunter’s blood sings to him after being subdued for so long, tempting him to abandon it all and rejoin the eternal hunt. He will not, as his heart is resolute, but surely he can be allowed to be both a protector and a hunter.
He almost doesn’t notice his surroundings as he revels, but when he does, he realizes that he intimately knows this place. It’s a dead end past here, and whatever bizarre creature has been leading him around will be trapped. The general runs past the choke point, but before he can reach his prey, a pair of hands grab him under his armpits and lift him up.
He struggles, fighting to escape the clutches of whatever foul trap this is.
“Gotcha! I was wondering what it would take to get you to come in here, General!” Brooke says, flipping General Tso upside down and carrying him like a baby. “Stop fussing; it's unbecoming for someone of your station.”
The general yowls, demanding the human release him so he might find the creature hunting her. His kicks cannot find purchase, and his gentle bites do nothing to dissuade her. Why does she insist on preventing him from protecting her! It is his purpose!
At that moment, the general notices something strange. From the tips of his ward's hair, comes something frighteningly similar to the beast's tail. Stopping his struggles, he turns to look at her face, his expression speaking volumes.
“Old Ones, that’s a lot of sass. Are you sure you can't talk? Say something. Talk to M—woah!”
The general twists violently, dropping out of her grasp. He does not look at her as he walks back to his abode; his feelings about her currently very conflicted. It was fun, at least. He thinks, kneading the blanket on his cat tree. But she will find I am not one to be trifled with tonight. He plots, and dreams of sprinting around the house and screaming at three a.m. drift into his mind as he naps.