Chaos: It's comparatively shorter than the first one, but that chapter included the prologue. This is the normal length for the chapters of this story, I think. So, no more comments from me - enjoy, and thanks for reviews! If you have any questions, I'll answer them here.
(warnings; none)
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He awoke in the cool depths of the night, feeling somewhat calmer – the soft embrace of darkness always held that comfort for him – but still as troubled. Slowly he slid out from the silken sheets, which fell away with barely a whisper; he disliked being pinned beneath heavy covers even in the increasingly cold weather.
His footsteps were soft as he moved down the separate corridors, lost in thought and simple reflection – these nocturnal walks were an occasional relief from stress and he moved like a ghost, unseen, unheard by the sleeping slaves that were his only company in the castle.
He stopped and looked up, then let a brief growl of annoyance flicker in the back of his throat. Some unconscious pull had led him down the stairs to the base floor and the thick-set unadorned door that marked the hedgehog's prison.
Was it still awake? Was it watching the door with burning eyes, waiting for the next time he would come to torment it? Would it even know night from day in the place lit by only a single tiny barred window?
With a resigned sigh, he curled his fingers around the handle and pushed open the door, bare feet silent on the stones.
The room was dark. That was the first thing he noticed. The ever-burning, ever-watchful eyes, beautifully green and so intensely mistrustful now, had been extinguished.
So the hedgehog did sleep.
He melted through the faintest moon-shadows from the window and open door to his chair, settling into it and listening. He could hear it breathing – deep and soft with sleep, and the sound was somehow a great relief to him, to know that it did rest; it did need a break from the constant pressure as he did.
And again he felt that deep weariness. He was so tired of it all. Only a couple of weeks and already his patience was being burned down by the slave's silence. Why? Why couldn't he just whip it or lash it, or whatever violence it would take to make it speak?
He could have been there for minutes or hours when the rhythm of the steady, reassuring breathing suddenly broke up, becoming faster and sharper, the sound of a creature under severe stress.
A dream? Or a release for the previous day's torment?
Then suddenly a slit of light in the shadows, a glimpse of emerald green – a glimpse that he hadn't seen before, soft and sad and almost bitter, and then the hedgehog's eyes flashed open completely and he sprang upright with almost astonishing speed; amazing reflexes responding instantly to the dim sight of Shadow watching him.
The red-streaked hedgehog didn't move for several long minutes, wondering whether he had imagined it; that flash of feeling, of something other than the wary long-suffering burning gaze that now was focused intently on him, as always.
"Well," He said eventually, voice seeming almost deafening in the room though it was as quiet as a whisper. "I have had enough of this."
He hadn't meant to say it. It had slithered past his mind somehow, escaping into the air, and yet it caused a reaction, which surprised him even more than the words themselves, which he had been withholding from himself. The corners of his prisoner's mouth quirked,peach lips stretched, and sharp white teeth suddenly gleamed in the thin light.
Grinning. The hedgehog was actually grinning at him, and its eyes held a spark of malicious delight. Aha, it seemed to say, I've beaten you. You've had every advantage, and you couldn't make me talk. I've still beaten you, ha ha ha.
He was not angry, which baffled him even more, though he didn't let a single facial twitch pass over his face. Rather, he was pleased. Some small voice in the back of his mind was singing delight, looking over and over at the new expression, drinking in the details of it.
He quashed it, but couldn't hide the relief. No more torment. No more abusing the thing. Yes, it had beaten him, but still, he couldn't help feeling as though it was in the reverse. Somehow he had gotten what he wanted; relief, and some change of expression from the Wild that proved it had a soul, that it had absorbed every single cruel word he had spoken.
And he felt strangely proud. It did have a soul. His efforts hadn't been for nothing. His money had not been wasted, since it had such strength to take all that he had and still not break. And he had gotten it to respond without wrenching the change from it with superior power.
In a way, it was he that had won.
