Dance with the Devil

His breathing hitched when a low chuckle sound beyond the suffocating walls of his prison. He paused, listening intently. And in that sudden silence he raised a paw and touched his shoulder. It was still sticky with blood, but there was a bandage around the wound now. At least he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out.

When the disembodied voice beyond spoke, it was of consequences. A threat. He knew how his parents dealt with threats. His own brother had disobeyed his parents, and his suffering had been their lesson. He leaned against the opposite wall. As far from the black wolf as he could manage. He slid slowly down, so he was crouched on the floor. Breathing, listening.  "Tur ger aldrig; det lånar bara ut." he whispered. An old saying of his mother, a warning more often than not. Often followed by Foolish child that you are. Turned out she had the right of it. This black devil intended to kill him.

"Speech"