He had watched her carefully when she had reached up to him and wished him goodnight. It was a strange display of affection after her swift education. Shroud had gone into sleep, and Tunnel had been a blue fortress through the night,
In the morning he drew away into the trees and the girl followed without being bid. He ignored her for the most part as long as she trailed along at his shoulder or hip. Straying was permitted to a degree when he stopped somewhere but he expected an immediate response when he spoke her name. He was quick with punishment, but she purchased a little forbearance when she pressed close after taking a second too long or touched her little muzzle to his broad black-shadowed neck. Sometimes that didn’t work, and he grabbed an ear or the back of her neck in his teeth in spite of these efforts. He never harmed the dark little wings, though they could be means of escape. He did not draw blood, or leave behind a mark that lasted long.
Their days went on like that as they roamed the forest. He took the lay of the land, considered the borders of the kingdoms that lay beyond the forest but did not pass into any of them. He groomed his precious thing, taught her where to find acorns, and tender grasses, how to strip the good things from tough and thorny plants. He did not love or care for her, but kept her.
She had disappeared one day, summoned by the dark God. Tunnel could not live among the monsters of this land without learning of Carnage, of Pangea. He’d resisted the call, he did not crave the blood of that stranger nor did he care what befell anyone but himself or his sabino pet. The child had fallen under the sway of the summons, this irritated the creature but he did not pursue her. Already he knew she’d be back, he wasn’t going into Pangea to find her.
The longer her delay the greater her punishment would be.
In the forest depths he roams, heavy deliberate movements carrying him though the thick undergrowth quietly, black mane and tail burred with summer snags. Over the sound of his own movements he hears the approach of another though he is certain she does not mean for him to. “Still too loud, Shroud.” He growls, though he does not yet see the winged girl and is pleased to find he does not smell her either. Still not as fine on her feet as he expects her to be. He stops beneath a diseased oak to wait for her, with what looks like quiet patience. She will know better.
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves
as though we were drowning inside our hearts
@[shroud] I hope this is okay, feel free to tweak anything that I assumed in your reply.
Also sorry if it double tags I had to edit!
