by Felicity Jakc

Created on: September 12, 2009   Last Updated: January 18, 2011

The Prince loomed over the shivering shape at his feet. Dark green eyes flashed in the half-light from the moon gleaming through the broken glass.

"Where are they, where have they gone ..."

His voice was harsh, sharp edged, cutting through the night silence like a knife. The shadowy heap at his feet scuttled backwards, a thin, dirty white hand scrabbling at the splintered wooden boards.

The sounds issuing from the heavy folds that enclosed him more animal than human.

The Prince snarled in rage. This was the third time his prey had escaped, disappearing from the face of the earth like a bodiless wraith. But this boy had been seen in his company only a few days ago. Sitting at his feet as if he were a God.

But they boy was exhausted and ill, and terrified.T he Prince stood motionless in the dim, foul air of the room, long, slender fingers rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. Could he use the boy to entice Barran? Either way it was pointless remaining here any longer. Outside the cold night air was broken by the hushed but  increasingly discontented grumbles of his men, weary from the long journey. Ten hours had passed since they had risen from their beds, hours spent galloping across harsh, uneven countryside. The horses heads drooped, their hooves skittered nervously  over the cold cobblestones. When he was younger there had been an eating place near the Anaskin River barely a half hours ride to the north. If it were still there there would be warmth and food. The establishment had been large and had been there for more than one generation. There was a good chance it was still there. If not, they would deal with that when and if it happened.

Coming abruptly to a decision he bent and grasped the edges of the cloak, his fingers digging into the shart, bony shoulders beneath the thin fabric. The boy gasped in violent fear, and jerked away. Cursing under his breath the Prince forced himself to relax, cupping his palm around the thin shoulder loosely, protectively almost . His voice softened,

"It's late. Come with me back to our camp and we will eat."

The boy lay still then slowly, reluctantly, rose to his feet. He had not eaten for several days. He had no doubts what the Prince would do if he refused. And perhaps he could help Barran more by submission this way. With head bowed he followed the tall, slender form out of the room. As he did, and under the cover of the shadowy cloak hood he glanced quickly towards the far corner of the room.

Two eyes, pale as glacial snow followed his movement, unseeing and unblinking. Following the boys mind.

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