-look up to the sky; is it still good to feel alive?- IP: 78.145.116.236 Posted on December 4, 2011 at 02:35:44 PM by Abraxas
Abraxas raised his delicate head as the two children approached, his large, dark eyes keen and watchful. He took in their scents thoughtfully- they, he reflected, could well be in a story. A brutal, shocking story to break the fatigue of the winter nights.
The borzoi glided towards them in his silent way, his long gold and white limbs moving with unerring elegance.
Which story, he wondered... Two children on a stormy night. Hansel and Gretel, perhaps, or the Pale Faces. Or maybe the Hunter. Yes, that would be best- the Hunter was good for nights like this, and suitably bone chilling. Now, how to orchestrate it.
Instantly, he adopted a bad limp on one forepaw, and began to struggle to breathe, the air whistling into his lungs with a deathly rattle. His head was held low, and he walked as though every step pained him, his face twisted.
"And so the Hunter became a cripple, to lure the children to their doom." Abraxas thought as he hobbled in the pairs direction. "He crept closer and closer, and he knew the hunt had begun. For the Hunter knew his role, to force the weak from the strong, to test the young creatures for strength and intelligence...."
This was no acting. In Abraxas's mind, he now genuinely was the Hunter, come to play god and decide who deserved to live, and who, in his own dark way, he would destroy.
"Greetings, children." He said, in his quiet, melodious voice. The Hunter was always softly spoken, crooning gentle words in your ear as he tore through your flesh and mind. Softly spoken, sharp fanged. Replies: There have been no replies.
