The Bird And The Shadow

Chapter Seven (Revised)

Preston stared at the little boy for some time, unsure of how to proceed. The boy just sat, playing both sides of the checkerboard. He cautiously approached the boy, trying not to startle him. The boy didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the stranger
in his house. He just sat quaintly and played by himself. Preston wondered how he would go about leading him away, but it didn't seem as though he would be very resistant.
"Uhm..."
He was scared that he might have to deal with some sort of rebellion, from the child or his family, but apparently not. His family was gone. Although, for some reason, this awkward silence and emotionless atmosphere felt more unsettling to Preston. He looked down at the boy.
"Uh. Hello there."
Feeling awfully unsure of himself, Preston motioned for the boy to follow him. The boy cocked his head to the side and stared blankly at him. Then, he lifted his petite figure off of the chair and onto the floor and skittered over to Preston. Preston was quite surprised at how cooperative he was being, though he still didn't entirely trust him. Not taking his eyes off of the child, Preston started out the door as he trailed behind. They had only covered a few meters when the raccoon took off and ran to the back of the hut.
"H-Hey! Stop!" Preston shouted, skittishly.
He ran after him, but Preston's weak knees couldn't keep up with The Little One's light-footed scamper. Preston shook with anxiety as he saw The Little One run into the woods. He stopped abruptly at the edge of the brush, The Ereishka's warning echoing through his head.
"Come back here! It's dangerous!" He shouted over the edge.
But The Little One was already too far into the dark woods for his voice to reach him.
He stayed leaning over the edge for some time, panicking, unsure of what to do other than watch him run.
Then Preston froze as something far away, deep in the thicket, caught his eye. A tall, thin, crooked and pale shape, following the thin trail of torn branches and flattened grass the child had left. He caught whiff of something spicy, like pepper or cinnamon. Perhaps both. The creature moved in a strange way, slowly gliding, bending, dragging it's twisted body along. It had a sort of rhythm to it, as though it were waltzing. He accidentally let a yelp escape his lips and the figure's neck cracked as it suddenly snapped it's head all the way around to reveal the pale, bony face and sunken eyes of a woman staring directly at him. Rooted to the ground by fear, Preston could only stare.
What in the world is that thing!? he thought.
The woman held his gaze for one petrifying moment before it contorted it's blood red lips and withered features.
And smiled.
Preston ran.

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Commodore marched his captive towards the mass of soldiers now assembling in the center of the village. He could see the many children's confused and concerned faces giving soldiers worried glances. He lightly shoved the scrawny nightingale he now held prisoner forward as he started to slow down.
"Move yer' chicken legs, ye' little berk."
The child picked up the pace a bit, his stick-like legs carrying his skinny build. Commodore and his detainee joined the disorganized swarm of soldiers. He scanned the bustling crowd, taking in the buzzing throng of malnourished creatures.
So scrawny, Commodore thought. All such scrawny little berks. They all looked so feeble and flimsy that he almost felt sorry for them.
Just like that weedy little Preston.
Now that he thought of the little clod, he hadn't seen him around. He looked over the sea of heads, and didn't catch hide or hair of the auburn squirrel's artless ears or buckling legs. The stupid little kook might be screwing things up somewhere, like he always seemed to do.
Tiny little fink' must be lost in the crowd, Commodore concluded. Preston was such a little thing, it would be easy for his miniature frame to buried in the sea of soldiers. They began to move forward in a slow wave and Commodore shoved the nightingale ahead, marching along silently.