By The Moon's Blade

5. Grasshaven, One Week Ago

"Fine, fine... I'll answer what I can," he said with a shiver as I stop dead in my tracks, knife still extended directly towards his chest.

"Good choice," I sneer. "How long have you been one of their foot soldiers?"

"I'm a new recruit, but I've always been a part of the Dreadarmy. I don't remember much of anything before my room in the barracks."

"So, what do you do for this... Dreadarmy?"

"I don't have much responsibility for now," he states, almost disappointed. "I just go out to the stream once a week to chant a few verses and then head back to my post. We usually do it in cycles, with some of the other recruits taking over the other shifts. But whatever we do must be important because in my time there, I've never noticed a single person miss their shift."

"Why? Do you know what happens there? Or do you realize the significance of what you're doing?"

I see his eyes lower with a tinge of guilt as he takes a pause. I raise my foot to walk forward as he finally speaks up.

"I don't know. I'm not sure why we do what we do. But we've always been trained to hate Lunari. Though, I don't know why, seems like you're perfectly pleasant people."

I chuckle. At least he has a sense of humor in the face of death.

I consider his words carefully and try to pick at any loose threads. But when I look at him cowering on the ground, puffing his chest to try and stave off the fear that no doubt lurks beneath, I don't sense any lies.

If I believe his words, there's not much more information I can get from him. A simple cog in the machine will just waste my time, time that I don't really have. But if he's lying and I let him go, I've wasted potentially my only opportunity to get the information I need.

I watch him diligently with my hand gripping the grooves in my blade before carefully selecting my next move. I lower my hand down to my side and as soon as relief sets into his shrinking body, I begin to walk towards him. Each step is deliberate, a statement, a wordless conversation that we both know the end of.

My palms become slick with sweat, enough to make me tighten my grip and savor the grooves beneath my fingers. My pulse quickens as I approach until finally, I'm looking him dead in the eyes, neither one of us blinking. His stare of terror, my stare of wrath. I pull him up by a large tuft of fur, rough and prickly on my palms. As I continue to look intently at the face of my enemy, I pull Shimmersoul up to his throat, just close enough to hear the faint sizzle of purple light on fur.

He whimpers and I dig it a little closer to his flesh. But when I look in his eyes, I notice something. Something different about this one.

First of all, I can see my reflection in them. The dark pearls that stare back at me have no flash of light, no glimmer, no power. I can see the anger in my own eyes, a violent purple wildfire lighting up my own irises. But, maybe most importantly, I see... grey. His eyes only have a hint of gold, light flecks dotting the murky spheres.

His power is weak, he poses no threat to me. The leaders have those molten amber eyes, or at least the one that I've been talking to. But I can't let him know that, at least not yet. At least not until I get what I need. So I continue to stare. I feel his hot breath on my face, a rancid smell emanating from that formidable mouth. I try not to gag at the smell, keeping a mask of cool calm.

"There's another Demonclaw. He's been taunting me. I don't know what he stands to gain. What is his name?" I ask, knife still dangerously close to his throat.

"Ummm... I... is there anything you know about him?" he stammers.

"Voice as smooth as the silkiest flower petal, but colder than ice. The brightest golden eyes I've ever seen. Wouldn't let me see any other features. And oh yeah, he's a real fucking asshole."