In the Dead of Night

*Sarak* · 08-20-2013, 10:27 PM

Sarak

Darkness. It fell and lifted and fell again. As soon as the meeting had ended, he had come back to his den. The deer had paid him no mind as he passed; they feared him no longer. Why fear a predator that never even seemed to see them? So an uneasy truce had turned to complacent ignorance. He was just another part of the miniature, secluded meadow they grazed on a daily and nightly basis. However, when another figure ghosted across the dark meadow, the herbivores raised their heads, stock still as they focused on the pale form, front feet stamping a nervous pattern of warning to one another as their white plumed tails flicked up. They scattered as the form stopped outside the hole that held the harmless one.

Sarak?s ears barely flicked at the sound of his name being whispered. But a slow breath and faintest hum of vague acknowledgement whispered back to her. He was awake. Listening to the hum of silence and chirping of crickets, and the fainter, musical croak of tree frogs off by a small stream about eighty five feet away from the edge of the meadow. Dull greens opened, turned, lifted. Her shadow fell across the opening, faint under starlight. Tonight would either kill him, or set the pain in his chest running far away. It was down to her. So he waited for her to enter, giving a faint whuff of acquiescence. Tonight would be the night he told her his past.

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