(Closed) - @senoculae
The days blended together into a blur of endless trees and endless valleys, each just as still and green as the next. Cain watched as his younger brother scampered ahead to climb the trunk of a great old oak, his long braid of yellow hair glinting briefly in the filtered sun before the entire boy vanished completely into the gloom. He dared a low sigh, looking down at the winding dirt path - same as the last dirt path, and the one before that. Most had proven useless in their journey, others had seemingly nudged them into the right direction.
The Templar passes the oak and listens for the soft thump of his brother dropping from it’s branches. It comes and they continue in silence, rounding a corner and cresting another slow sloping hill. There’s another valley beyond, with another little village nestled in it’s cusp. Cain chooses to ignore the low, irritated hiss that sounds from the other. The sun was creeping lower in the sky, beginning to paint the scene in shadow and sunset.
“We will camp for the night.” Off the path and in a clearing, Cain did not think it would be cold enough to warrant much of a fire. It would be easier to fit Charles for a trip into town after he had fallen asleep in a pile of leaves, too. After his brother stopped speaking again some months ago, the more unpleasant aspects of his personality had reappeared. It was easy enough to explain away the unusual gear hidden under the boy’s cloak by saying he was traumatized by the war.
Cain didn’t dwell on it as he laid out his bedroll, passed his brother a rabbit haunch and took a bit of hard cracker for himself. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, and there was a gnawing hunger in the pit of his belly he could not shake. He did not bother with sleep, waiting instead until his brother settled into his leaf bed and his breathing settled into a slow rhythm. The half mask to keep Charles from sinking his teeth into some unsuspecting soul, wrist bindings from which the leash attached, keeping the flighty boy close enough to be subdued, if necessary.
It was something he had done a dozen times before and hadn't expected it to go any different now. Charles wandered the prophetic dreams in his sleep and not easily woken from them, Cain had found. He would be agitated in the morning, but would settle soon after.
Cain had not expected Charles' eyes to open as he finished the last strap on the wrist binds, burning with an anger that Cain had come to recognize for what it was: a problem. It was dark and his reflexes dulled by lack of food and sleep, fingers closing on a tight grip full of nothing as Charley was already vanishing into the black of the forest.
“Son of a whore-” Cain hissed, thankful he had decided against removing his leather plates of armor and shirt of fine chain mail. He snatches their pack of belongings off the forest floor, abandoning his bedroll as he makes pursuit of his wayward brother. The last time Charles had taken off like this, it had been two weeks and a snare before he had caught him again. Cain had little intention of letting that happen again.
Cain followed the sound of faint footsteps running through the leaves that coated the dirt. Occasionally he caught a glimpse in the moonlight, a scrap of cloth, a dirty foot; always close enough to ignore the harsh burn in his lungs, the exhaustion that nagged every step. He's going to wring Charley's neck when he catches him, keep him tied to a tree at every camp-
It's his shame that it isn't by grabbing that long braid of hair Charles refuses to let him cut that he stops the chase, but by crashing into him. The boy had stopped at the edge of a fairy ring of mushrooms, poised like an alerted Halla, staring down into the calm patch of bare grass when his armored brother abruptly discovered them. They fell in, then down, dropping out of the sky and into a pasture, sending it's cattle occupants away with startled snorts. Cain found himself staring up at a sky glittering with stars as his brother sprung off his chest and dashed away. Little bastard.
Cain heaves himself up, forcing himself into a run as he pulls his short sword from it's scabbard. He has some notions of chucking it and spearing the demonic boy to the earth itself but he brandishes instead, calling out.
“Charles! Charles, stop running or I will cut your damned legs off and sew you into a sack!” Sometimes it's enough to make his brother stop, and tonight it does make the boy pause, looking back over his shoulder. His hand is resting on the fence, a barn lays not far beyond. His destination, no doubt. Cain spurs himself to run faster, closing the gap between them, almost close enough to reach – and his feral brother hops the fence like a deer, sprinting across the yard and scaling the wooden structure. The Templar climbs the barrier himself and watches as the small man vanishes into the hayloft. Disbelief. He trudges up to the wall, looking up.
“Charles!” Nothing, not a stir, not even a thrown sack of feed.
“Charles stop fucking around come down here! Fucking Maker-damned, Fade-addled-” Cain stops for a moment, sheathing his sword as he exhales in frustration. “You vex me Charles. I am fucking vexed! Vexed right to shit and fuck and all else! I swear, Charles, I swear on this very earth I will truss you up like a corpse if you come down from there before I finish speaking to whatever baffled farmer lives here! Shit!”
Huffing from his tirade and useless pursuit, Cain turns to the little farmhouse. He hopes the farmer is in a friendly mood, the pack is weighing heavy on his shoulders and he can barely stand the thought of another march in the darkness. Let alone getting Charles out of the hayloft without calling the wrath of an entire village down upon them. Selling the man off to one of Dorian's mage friends would have been a much more pleasant option than this. Cain wished he lacked morals as he raised a heavy fist and knocked on the door. The exact way they had found themselves here was a very distant consideration in his tired mind.
