Yay, I FINALLY get around to writing another HON fic! Rephaim is just too amazing to resist. :D
The village is small enough, in terms of size. It consists of maybe twenty tepees, draped in animal hides and all set up circling the main fire in a neat half crescent. Just outside the circle of tents, there is a little enclosed paddock where ten or so horses graze quietly. The area is swallowed up by sunlight every evening, the warmth of summer broken only by the shadows that stretch from the mountains in the west.
Near the paddock, a cluster of dark trees form the mouth of a huge forest. The trees are high, high enough that to wander into the woods could mean to become lost in a never-ending maze of dim twilight and deep, dark ponds laying in wait. Most of the people avoid the forest, for that reason and others.
It is in this cluster of trees that a small, startling creature sits most evenings, perched easily in the highest branches. It is haggard and emaciated, with the limbs of a little boy and the wings and face of a raven. With wild, fierce eyes it watches.
Nobody notices him, mainly because he blends in well with the darkness. He always has. It was one of the first lessons his father ever taught him.
He likes to watch the village people go about their lives. He goes here every day, as soon as his father disappears for the night, and hides himself in the trees. The human children play around the paddock, laughing and shrieking and speaking rapidly to each other in Cherokee.
He listens to them, because though he is young, as young as they are, he is clever. Their language is the one his father uses when speaking to him, and he can speak like an adult.
His crimson eyes slide in and out of the shadows as clouds move slowly overhead. His fingers clutch at the wood of the tree he is sitting on, and he feels a shiver race along his arms.
A little boy that he guesses is around his age toddles out of one of the tepees, meandering aimlessly toward the others. One child, who is obviously his elder brother, swings the little boy up onto his skinny shoulders, letting him grab handfuls of his dark hair. The elder boy winces, but doesn't object.
The raven mocker closes his eyes against the storm of hurt he feels. Why can't he be like them? Why can he not have a mouth, and a nose, and black hair braided with a feather, like they have? Why can he not have a brother to play and laugh with?
He opens his eyes again and trains them on the human children.
They are gathered around an old mare, a very motherly horse. She doesn't mind when they pet her flank and make noise around her, disrupting her grazing. One girl grabs her muzzle and she only blows through her nostrils gently, dislodging the child and setting her down carefully on the ground. Someone has painted a grey circle around one of her big eyes.
The children play on, screaming and attacking each other playfully, like stray dogs. The mare watches with amusement.
Eventually the sky darkens, and a young Cherokee woman calls out to them. They rush eagerly toward her, disappearing inside one of the larger tepees.
The raven mocker sits still for a long minute, straining his neck to try to see where they have gone. He wants to continue watching them, pretending that he is like them for one more hour.
No one comes.
Hesitantly, he moves. He jumps from the tree and lands softly like a cat, eyes flickering for any sign of humans. All of the villagers seem to have gone; they are eating together in the chief's tepee.
He treads carefully towards the paddock, his wings shifting uneasily. He has them folded against his back, but if he needs to, he can open them quickly and fly away.
Climbing over the fence, he wonders whether he has lost his mind. Father will murder him in cold blood if he finds out about this, and yet he cannot stop himself from approaching the old horse. Cannot convince himself that petting her just once, like the children did, won't make him feel like one of them, even for just a moment.
The grass is soft underneath his feet, and he watches the mare raise her head to look at him with wide, round eyes.
He lifts a hand slowly, still walking toward her. 'Hello, prrrrretty one.'
She opens her muzzle and gives a frightened cry that rips through the quiet of the village and sends the people flooding out.
Rephaim tastes blood.
It fills his mouth and gathers on his tongue, and he can feel it weeping from the back of his throat. He lifts a hand to touch his sore face, but one of his fingers is broken and it hurts to move it.
He whimpers, a low sound, but still his father hears it.
He is kicked again.
Pain splashes across his chest as he feels his shoulder slide out of place, and he yelps, eyes blurring with tears. He looks up at his father imploringly, begging him silently to stop, please stop.
Father meets his gaze emotionlessly, but there is a hint of malice hiding behind his mouth. With a surge of fear, Rephaim realises that Father likes to hurt people. It comes easily to him, and he takes some measure of enjoyment from it.
Does he really enjoy hurting me? Rephaim thinks, and his answer is in the form of another kick, aimed at his leg this time.
Father wraps a cruel hand around his neck and lifts Rephaim up, holding him so they are at eye level. Rephaim makes a soft noise when the movement shunts his dislocated shoulder and agony rips him open again.
Father laughs, a disgusted sound. 'What kind of a worthless son have I? You cannot even follow simple orders. Obviously I underestimated the animal side of your wit. You are not even capable of thinking.'
Rephaim doesn't say a word. In this state, he knows he will not be able to control the hiss in his voice, and he knows that Father hates it when he speaks like a snake.
'Five years old and I already regret you. No, that's not right. I have always regretted you, from the day you were born. You are nothing but an abomination.'
Rephaim keeps quiet, and for a moment he can almost imagine a different world in the safety of his mind, one where his father loves him and trusts him and they work together like a team. Where his father misses him when he is gone, and cries for him when he is hurt, and runs to save him when he is in danger.
Maybe this world is attainable, Rephaim thinks. Maybe if he obeys father from now on, and follows all his orders, and gives him no more reasons to beat him anymore, then perhaps father will start to love him like the village fathers love their children.
Father looks hard at him, and the malice gone. His fingers loosen from around his son's throat.
Rephaim hopes that he is finally done, and the punishment is now going to end.
It doesn't, but Rephaim will continue to hope anyway.
And there you go. It was pretty short, not to mention pretty crap, but I do hope it was worth your time anyway.
If you decide to review, you'll be making one stressed Dublin schoolgirl VERY HAPPY! ( I have a massive history test on Wednesday - please cheer me up?)
Ciao for now.