A maiden hidden in a large cloak, with flowing yellow hair runs through the brush and brustles. Her green eyes, filled with tears, spoke of the great fear she felt. In her arms wrapped in her midnight cloak was a lumpy bundle that whimperd ever so often.
As the maiden came upon a hill she slowed her pace. She walked to the top of it and stood next to a Norman stone styled cross. It had cracking blood on it which was cooling off from bakeing in the long hours of the sun. She hung her head and kept her eyes focased on the path she was now to take leading towards the village.
Glancing backwords, the whites of her eyes falshing, she wonders what it was she heard rustling in the brush. Surly she lost those... those... creatures. A few leaves blow out of her way, but the rest crunch under feet as she hurried forward on the path. Trees press in around her, the branches seem to grab at her clothes. It is darker here in the forest where she travles, and the sky above merely taunts her, growing purple-grey with the onset of twilight.
The bundle, again, lets out a whimper and in fear the maiden starts to sing a song she remeberd hearing from her childhood days.
"Hush now my baby. Please do not cry. Lay your head on my shoulder and sigh. Hush now my baby. Please do not cry; for the gods will watch you both day and night."
The bundle instantly hushed and although it was silent a mew could be heard every now and then. And each time the sound came forth, the maiden would smile sadly down upon it.
She soon reached the village. Just on the edge of a farmers stock was a sign that reported the name: Heartferd. With one last glance behind her she fled inside of the village's boundries in search of shelter.
A strike of cold air whisped through a thin sheet that hung by a single rusted nail on an old sit-in window with no glass. The street (or allyway) below was litered with garbage and bodies. Either dead or near close to death. Ally-tom's ran after scurring rats, hissing whenever their meal for the day would scampper under a hole in a brick wall or a fallen down garbage can.
A moan was heard from the corner of a room near the glass-less window. A young man with shoulder length raven black hair and Peircing Yellow eyes was having trouble in his sleep. His greesy hair clung to his face.
Mycal lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had been awoken by yet another vived dream with his hands pressed over his legs.
The old scar on his thigh, which was shaped like a rose, was burning once again beanth his fingers. It was as though somone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.
He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for support. He stood up and threw back the old sheet and the room became dimly lit by a fiant, misty orange light that was filtering through the holes from street lights in the ally way.
Mycal ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful but at least the pain was reducing a bit. He decided he would have no more sleep tonight and decided to get ready. He walked out of the room and into a hallway where there was another door just to his left. The wash room.
Mycal padded into the room and studied himself in the mirror. He had sharp features as all he was, was mainly skin and bones. Some muscles on his lanky arms and legs but that was about it. He wore nothing but black boxers and an old muscle shirt that showed the nipple ring quite well.
The ten year old boy sighed and wonderd just how it was that he had the body of a deprived child and the mind of an old man. Mycal ran a hand through his Raven hair and started the shower, cringing at the greasy feeling of his hair. Well that's what happens when you can't find your way home for three days.
He took one last look at himself and stripped, befor steping into the cold shower with a hiss. Fifteen minutes later a small growel like noise errupted from the shower as the water turned off and out steped Mycalus.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and looked at himself in the mirror again. He sighed when he saw the black ears ontop of his head and the peeking of his black tail out from under the towel. His nails were longer and shaped like claws and all his scences were hightened.
Mycalus hissed at his reflection and when it was returned he walked out of the room and into another that was furnished with three chairs and dressing tables and one large closet.