damn it’s like dark in here

it’s a gaping maw, standing stark against the wintry landscape and seeming to swallow the slivers of weak morning light straining to peak through gunmetal clouds. a cavern of some sort, carved into one of this territory’s many rock faces. Las squints through a dusting of snow, rubbing impatiently at his face. his satchel is slung at his hip, thumping with the weight of its bulging cargo, and the raider boy shoots it a worried glance as the flurry picks up. he hadn’t meant to get caught out here, had simply been looking for a quiet place to read - a novelty with so many siblings around - but now the sky swells with promised snowfall, expelling tiny flakes with increasing speed. Las covers his satchel with a protective paw and shoots the cave another cautious glance. it’s not exactly the most appealing shelter, but what is the alternative? risk damaging his books? Las screws up his nose at the very prospect, resolve solidifying. fat chance.

picking his way through the snow, he ducks into the cave just as the flurry becomes a proper gale. wind echoes overhead in a low moan. it’s strange to be encased by so much earth, a little claustrophobic to know layers of rock separate him from the sky. shadows cling to every corner, and the scent of damp is thick in the air. Las strains, listening to the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water pattering from the ceiling. he lingers in the entrance for several moments, glancing uncertainly into the distance. it’d be wise, perhaps, to remain by the opening and leave the moment the snow shows signs of stopping, but something tugs him forward. an itching to explore, a desire to pursue this new venture. here lies an opportunity to learn more of his world, and Las is never one to pass up the gathering of knowledge.

he moves cautiously at first, taking note of every strange new detail. spongy layers of moss coat the walls, and, as Las pads deeper, he can just make out the pattering of tiny feet. insects, perhaps? mice? the terrain grows more difficult to navigate the deeper he goes; where the floor was smooth, as though worn by previous paws, it’s become jagged and uneven. occasionally, rocks shoot up in towering spires, like earth-hewn teeth bared in a snarl. stalagmites, he recalls, prodding one with a forepaw. it rasps against his toes, scraping and rough. capable of rending skin from bone. Las tries to give them a wide birth, cognisant of injuring himself down here where it’ll likely take a while for someone to find him. he can’t imagine ever hearing the end of that.

Las isn’t sure how long it’s been before he finally decides to take a break. he settles on his rump, rubbing at his aching shoulders as his satchel slides to the floor. the damp and cold threatens to penetrate his bones, and he shivers, huddling into himself. columns of rock have started forming above, too, and this coupled with the stalagmites has made for a slow, tenuous process. it’s frustrating, but Las doesn’t mind the challenge. it’s kind of fun to parse each obstacle, examining them from every angle until he’s found a safe way through. well, ‘safe’ is being generous, but adventure always requires a bit of risk. probably? that sounds like something one of his siblings would say, maybe Korona. an overhead screech draws him from his thoughts, and the boy flinches as a dark shape swoops into view. it’s little more than a blur of movement, a flash of wing and talon and fang. Las stands, ducking as it wheels back around. it’s beady eyes flash red, it’s voice rising in another of those terrible shrieks. Las beats a hasty retreat back the way he’d come, stumbling as the bat makes another low swoop. he can feel the wind shift with its wing beats, and his heart thunders alongside it, a mix of anxiety and thrill. he’s never encountered such a creature, and he wishes it would stop chasing him so he has a chance to turn and study it. thankfully, the bat seems to grow tired with the chase and pulls up sharply, still beating those strange leathery wings. it bares it’s tiny fangs, and Las stills to watch, flashing his own teeth in answer. he tilts his head, considering. is the bat protecting its territory? does it consider him an intruder?

if he thinks of it like that, in terms of protection, it’s hard to resent the little creature for it. Cutlass watches it perform a final loop before disappearing back into the shadows, and he realises with a start that it’s chased him all the way to the entrance. Las peers outside, noting the lack of snowfall and the hints of blue peaking through the clouds. the sun is just starting to sink, shoots of orange intermingling with pinks and purples. Las is surprised to find he’s whiled away an entire afternoon down there, traversing through the cave. how much further does it go? his stomach growls, drawing his attention from the pocket of darkness at his shoulder. Las hikes up his satchel and steps out into the gathering dusk. he can always come back another day.

wc: 879

"Cutlass Fallen"