a task must end.
some, they shadow. their deeds are marked with a tally, and the end will come where death shall reap. it may take a long time, but they have nothing but time.
those they follow, watch from the crest of the shadows, out of the corner of the eye by the mark of the hunt - are often stubborn.
they spoke to him, once, and then twice. the first time, his skin was still flushed dark and the life in him was more natural than the dirt nations bury their dead in, so unbelievingly real that they both were wary of this being of absolute, undeniable existence.
no mortal should possess such power.
he agreed.
the first rune he found on his own, he pried from the corpse of a man he once loved. at that time, shrouded in the darkness of night, in the crater of a temple destroyed in the conflict, the mage should have been ready for the hunt. no mortal man could withstand an unstable rune's control. he should have been ready.
the carving was clutched in his hand as the lamb watched him. his eyes glowed white. but she saw the colour behind them.
i know what i am doing.
( he is an honest man. for him - an arrow. )
the second time, he is taller, he is older, and he watches her with the same white stare he had for her a thousand years ago, and tells her he can't go just yet. there are shadows under his eyes, dark purple that matches his unnatural skin so well. he looks physically sharper - in his shoulders, nose, elbows, his jaw if the beard on his face was shaven away. if it was shaven away, the lamb muses, he would look as he did so long ago.
he can't go just yet, and he lowers the muted rune into his pocket, protective sigil bound over it. a little longer.
but all things must meet their end, mage.
she told him to run. the same book hanging from his belt from their last meeting rattles in its steel chains when he does.
the wolf does not get to hunt this one.
and neither shall she.
( for now? )
( for now. )