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The witching hour.

He wasn't sure how he got here, or frankly where he came from. There was only darkness in the confines of his memory, darkness - and death. Which the boy already had a solid understanding of, that was why he was here ─ he knew. Death. Death lived here and so shall he as its sole beacon.

Its vessel.

Little charcoal rump was set in the snow, sitting in a lazy sort of way where he was rolled onto one hip and rear legs jutted out awkwardly from beneath his rounded belly. He stared emptily pointing his nose toward the entrance of a cave's maw. While he could see nothing but the dark, his senses; those of smell and sound brought his world to life inside his mind, and made his location into a tapestry.

Colors danced in his head like the northern lights, the cave the center of it all, rich and earthly and...ancient. Little rounded ears would twitch, catching the soft squeaking of activity from within, but the tiny bundle of nocturnal air wouldn't move, gathering a light dusting of snow upon his back as he sat ─ and he waited.

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for Sreda

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Skill:

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Finally, some excitement.

Something — a monster in red — had assaulted her Mother. It had torn into her, ravenously destroying that pristine golden coat. The monster could have been an artist, really, but Sreda didn't have time to compliment his savage works, not when she had to show them all what she could do. And not when it was her Mother's life hanging in the balance. With Harper gone, she'd been vying for a chance to prove to her Mama that she was more than a child. That she was capable.

And if she couldn't prove that with her ... otherworldly ... activities ... then perhaps showing them with something more concrete would be beneficial.

And so, Sreda, more often the toxicologist, had become the healer.

She'd come back for echinacea and yarrow. As delightful as it would be to watch the wound fester, she supposed it would be more ideal to keep her Mother alive. She'd done enough experiments to keep her curiosity at bay — for now. That, and her curiosity was currently fixated on something else ... this monster.

Upon fetching the herbs, she made her way back toward the exit of the den, when suddenly she felt ... eyes on her.

Well, correction.

It was a discreet lack of eyes she felt on her.

Amythyst gems would twinkle, sparkling against the moonlight and the glittering silver snow as she turned her head toward the tiny little thing that sat in the entrance of her cave. It was clad in black, all black. And it had empty, eyeless sockets that seemed to peer toward her with some kind of strange, otherworldly knowing. Well, aren't you dreadful, she'd hum, a twitch of a smile catching on the edge of her lip as she diverted her path toward the curious little creature.

You've come at an interesting time, you know, she would continue, raising a brow despite realizing that the child could not see it. Her curiosity blossomed further. What are you doing out here? Valeska did not generally let the children wander this far. It was too dangerous, or something equally as absurd. But Sreda also hadn't heard rumor of a new child — especially not one with this particular complexion.

It was almost as if the child was put here for her.

I am Sreda, she'd tell him, lowering her nose to sniff at him. Hm. Oddly floral. She'd squinch her nose a bit before flicking her tufted ears forward. Do you have a name?

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His little ebony nose twitches eagerly, there is something sweet smelling approaching him. It infatuates the little boy causing him to stretch his nose reaching for it as the rich violet associated with the scent envelopes his thoughts and drowns out the more earthly accents. He doesn't move or rise though, stay here his instincts tell him, stay here until ─

"Well, aren't you dreadful," right ear pivots before sliding back atop his head at the gentle hum of lyrical vocals. "You've come at an interesting time, you know," his little tail wiggles as he tilts his head, keen to listen, wanting more of these sounds. "What are you doing out here?" he's prompted now, and pitches his chin up slightly to where the smell is most concentrated, ❝ I was invited, I 'hink....but here? ❞ he lifts a foot and places it back on the frozen earth, to signal physically 'here' ❝ I jus' wake up ❞ he tells her.

"I am Sreda," he smiles, although its...unnerving; he's still a child, genuine and as...innocent as he can conjure. "Do you have a name?" he shakes his head, mouth falling agape slightly as the idea settles into his head. ❝ Uh uh...I want a name ❞ his tail wiggles as he gets up and takes a few toddling steps toward the source of the scent and sound; though he's off to the left too far, as he stumbles slightly on numb toes.


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The little one seemed … excited. Unafraid. Exuberant, even. Sreda would blink, watching the way his smaller body wiggled and moved, exploring an unfamiliar environment with his other senses. And her bitter, cold little heart perhaps felt just a little warmer.

Perhaps this pup’s worldly blindness meant his eyes were elsewhere. That his vision was in another realm — looking at other things. And Sreda was morbidly curious. And … oddly delighted. If this is where you woke, this is where you shall stay, Sreda offered, lowering her nose to place it lightly atop the child’s head. With me. Yes. She would be his eyes in this world, and perhaps he could be her eyes elsewhere. If you’d like.

Upon her questioning of his calling, he did not respond with a name but instead a request of his own. He wanted a name. The little boy would wander, blind but curious as he tripped over his own large feet, scuttling through the snow. Achlys. The name fell from her lips, an ancient name that represented the mist that settled over the eyes of the dead … the mist that blinded the living from seeing what lay beyond.

For Achlys could see where many could not.

She was sure of it.

Achlys Kosa, hm? Mоя маленькая ‘коsа’. (My little scythe)

She would take a few steps, following after him as he explored. Do you remember anything? Before … ‘here’? As the child moved, Sreda kicked away the rocks and sticks that gathered in his path, freeing his way so that he may move uninhibited.

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"If this is where you woke, this is where you shall stay," well; he wasn't planning on leaving anyway even if she made him sleep outside of that sweet smelling mass behind her. He felt contact, a brush of Sreda against him and he craned his head to brush his muzzle against her own.

Nose twitching intricately against her own breathing it in as he solidified her signature - who she was. He liked this too. Physical touch. It warmed his black little soul. "With me." his little tail wagged pushing his nose into hers for more of that comfort. "If you’d like." ❝ Yes...I stay with Sreda ❞ he belonged here.

His move away from her was reluctant as he sought to explore. "Achlys." and he smiled brightly. "Achlys Kosa, hm? Mоя маленькая ‘коsа’." ❝ Ahklys Kosha! ❞ he beams, clearly in approval. "Do you remember anything? Before … ‘here’?" he paused, as though the words triggered a memory.

Falling into a silent still for too many heartbeats.

❝ I 'member the dead...and their um...echoes, they still in my head ❞ his empty eye sockets blinked as he explained no hesitation or fear regarding the subject ❝ I helped them...I think, helped them cross ❞ his broken speech made sense to him, though he wasn't sure if it would make sense to Sreda.


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