The character, even though his name is not mentioned anywhere in this piece is the soul property of thepheenixeyri as is this story. Given that, this is also a home game entry for therealljidol because this particular muse was very, very, and I do mean *very* persistent.
He stood on the edge of the clearing, flexing his owl's wings. He had unbound his hair so that it flowed like myriad strands of polished ok in the wind that wafted through the trees; a wind that smelld of the coming dawn, yet was still tinged with the scent of his beloved night. Night, a time of secrets and hidden things; the perfect time for things that were much too true for the day- much too true. He had just come to ground with the light of his latest (and very highly successful thank ye very much) mission still in his smokey grey eyes. He often came here after the missions were through; this place was nearly as wild now as it had ever been, and nearly as feral as he felt.
He heard the whispers the winds brought him; all of them, every single one. Whispers of awe; whispers of fear. Whispers that called him evil, vile, cruel. "How does he sleep? ... How does he live with himself! ... What in all the worlds would cause someone to be so-so- so totally unfeeling as to do such a vile thing!... a killer's a killer; he should be caught, punished!"
He had long since stopped caring what the whispers said. He had grown used to them. They came after nearly every assignment he had been given, after every deed he had had to do. After nearly every success. They would fade soon enough; the people would move on with their petty little lives, soon to forget the thing they whispered about this night. Such small-minded creatures they were- or most of them anyway. so caught up in their own fears that they had no idea of the fear he'd just delivered them from. There were one or two exceptions, but not many more than that.
He no longer cared what the whispers said; He knew who he was, what he was. To him, that was all that mattered. Nothing else mattered save that, not even the whispers that wound through his soul that spoke of grief and loss for the one whom he'd had the distinct pleasure of releasing to the blessid expanse of the stars. His smile was one of grim satisfaction as he finally stilled his wings. He had done well this night; his employer would be well pleased. Very well pleased indeed.
This is one of the rare times you will se him written third person POV; he very much prefers the first, but we both agreed that it wouldn't have fit the tone of this peace well at all.:p
Until next time,