by Leah Woods

Created on: May 29, 2008

The Proctate's Bane

"Do you realize the police are after you?" she demanded, her tone bordering on panic.
He glanced at her briefly, his grey-blue eyes emotionless, then returned his gaze to the hunk of wood he was chipping idly at with a hunting knife. "I realize," his voice held little emotion and his reaction only succeeded in aggravating her further.
"Radigan!" she exclaimed and he winced at the employ of his full name. "You promised me things wouldn't go this far!"

The muscles in his broad shoulders tensed and he pushed his back awkwardly against the rough wall of the rustic cabin, shifting on his stool. He stared dismally out over the broom-covered yard of the woodland cabin, and into the dense forest of ancient trees. The scents of cedar and sun-baked wood lingered in his nostrils as he breathed deeply of the clear air. No hints of the city exhaust or smelt lingered in this place of purity. The sun was going down, its fading rays washing the skies in blood. Fading heat caressed his bare torso as sweat slicked his lean, muscled frame. He avoided her persistent gaze; "I'm sorry Mehgan" he trailed off helplessly and looked up. Her ice blue eyes were distressed, the wisps of brown hair framing her face only added to her flustered appearance.
Mehgan took a deep shuddering breath, "Rad, when you wrote the book, I told you it would cause problems; you knew as well as I that it would bring them after you. Why did you take it to a publisher? Why couldn't you have just let it be? You were a fool to write it, but to publish it you must be insane! The Proctate is powerful; they control everything! How do you think you can dodge them?"
Rad stood up, uncurling his 6'4" frame from its cramped position on the stool. Dragging his fingers through his tangled dark hair he stared at his dirty jeans. His deep-set eyes gave him a mysterious look and the 5 days worth of whiskers on his cheeks only added to his rugged appearance. Encasing the hunting knife in a leather sheath on his belt, he discarded the wood he'd been whittling. His eyes were stormy and restless as he met hers. They were opposites; perhaps that's why in a family of nine children they had stuck together. Even now, as adults, they stayed together, supported each other. She was short with high-cheekbones and a harsh nose. Her prettiest features were her ice blue eyes fringed by long, brown lashes. Those eyes were angry now, exasperated, and laced with fear. She stood with hands on hips, her slender figure stiff with

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