The Hand

    Tattered ears twitched as she heard leather soles steadily descend the seldom used staircase that lead down to the cells. It wasn’t yet time for a meal and as far as she could tell she was the only one down here. This visit was unscheduled, she surmised, though as the footfalls grew more near a fanged snarl parted her lips. She may be blind, but her sense of sight was more keen than others in certain ways. For she saw the energy of one’s being and the energy that flows through all life, but this presence set her on edge.

    “Well, I must say I expected more from the one called The Hand.” The husky deep voice of a male rang forth once he had stepped into the chamber. She did not need to see his smug expression to know it was there as it dripped from his very tone. 

    “What do you want?” She snapped at the man.

    “My, what temper!” A hearty laugh escaped him as he regarded her curiously, “I am Waren Fitzgerald, the Prophet that The Oracle spoke of and the keeper of your Prophecy.” After a brief pause to look her over her continued, “Ah, I see. You traded your service for sight. It must not be easy to see the truth that others are blind to.”

    Lilyda let out a low growl, she did not like being kept as a spectacle to be observed from within a cage.

    “Fret not, my fanged friend. I only came down here to see you with my own eyes.”

    “Satisfied?” She spat.