And Then There Was Light

His answer is one that, honestly, I wasn’t expecting. What is he doing here, then, alone, in a place so dark that’s crawling with lurking entities, sitting in the shadows and always just beyond reach? It’s unnerving, knowing that they’re always there and watching, yet never emerging. A gentle smile tugs back at dark lips and I chuckle warmly as a giggle escapes the boy and he strikes out in a sportive manner, grateful that I hadn’t frightened him further with my less than subtle appearance from the depths of the darkness. At his question, I give a shake of my head. “No,” came my simple response, “I believe it was only the lightning. I know that it sounds scary, but it is nothing you should worry over.” Or so I hoped it had been nothing more than the seemingly perpetual storms that rolled overhead, crashing, rumbling and threatening those who did not seek cover from it. Warily I cast a look over my shoulder as if to assure that there truly was nobody else in our midst, that it really had been the lightning and nothing else – honestly, it’s hard to say just yet in this new, messed up world we’ve all been suddenly thrust in to. Looking back to the boy, I subconsciously shift closer to him, that paternal instinct beginning to take over without completely realizing it. Merlin finally begins to emerge from his makeshift home in a tangle of mane, too, and curiously he crawls out to sit atop my nape and gaze at the bat-winged child. “What’s your name?” The soft inquiry comes, “Mine is Destrier, and my friend here is Merlin.” There’s a bit of hesitation before the next question is spoken. So many had lost their friends and family during the passage of worlds that I’m dubious to ask it. In the end, I choose to word it carefully, hoping not to strike the wrong chord in him. “… Is there anyone I can help you find?”

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