Imagine sitting on one of those ornate rock benches back in Tri-Stone.
The late sunlight rendered everything in sight a mellow golden hue. The stone was pleasantly warm under your ass.
You wagged your short human legs, your thoughts orbiting lazily around the perspective of supper. What are those Makers going to feed you this time?
You could tell that the giants weren’t all that used to the practice of heat processing chunks of meat until it became edible. Yet since you’ve arrived, they tried their best.
It was endearing…in a way. Right at this moment, you had no greater care in the word.
Until the spacious stone courtyard echoed with someone’s footsteps.
Your head darted upwards. There he went; tall, ominous and pale, his wide upper body hulked down into this impossible curve.
(How did he manage to walk like that and not get killer back cramps? You often wondered.) All that murderous ironmongery jangled softly around his slender waist.
If your mind was clearer, you might’ve been startled by the fact that you could notice him approaching you at all.
Maybe this time he chose to be heard.
But you didn’t have a clear mind. Not whenever Death was around. No way José.
The Reaper approached you and came to a halt; eyes like two burning coals fixed on your face. His own was covered by that morbid bone…thing, as usual.
How convenient, you thought.
He gave out the smallest sigh - and sat on his haunches. Now your faces were almost on the same level.
Almost.
“Girl”, Death said, “I gave it some thought. I’ve talked to the Makers. You can stay with them from now on.”
You inhaled.
“There’s no need to risk your life on this perilous journey”, he added, his voice meticulously level. “They’ll take excellent care of you.”
You blinked slowly - once, twice - and stared at the mask, which betrayed nothing.
“You…want me to stay here?”
Did he just appear a little bit startled? It was hard to say for sure when all you had to work with were these narrow bone slits.
“This is not about what I want”, Death ascertained. “It’s about what might be the best for you.”
No. No.
“How about what I want, D?” you blurted out, feeling your pulse already starting to gallop. Damn that choleric disposition of yours.
His eyes went huge for a second there - like two small boiling suns.
Then the Reaper took a hold of himself, stood up and folded his arms. Farther from your eager face. Farther from you.
“Well then, why don’t you tell me what you want?” There was a lenient note woven into that raspy timbre of his. It felt like a condescending pat on the head.
You hated it.
“I don’t wanna be away from you. I don’t fancy being left behind.” The words flew on their own. So raw, so awkward. Not the best way to convince this slick, self-restrained and probably highly neurotic bastard at all. But that’s what your insides were screaming, and who were you to argue with your own gut?
Death just stood there motionlessly.
“Ah.” That’s all he finally said.
“Lookie here, D”, you stood up from the bench in a desperate - and fairly fruitless - attempt to appear a little taller. “I’m sure the Makers are more than qualified to keep a human shrimp like me outta any trouble. But the thing is…when I’m with you, I feel safe.”
The Horseman took a long swig of air.
“Is that so”, he uttered slowly. “Very well then.”
He spun on his heel and marched off. The evening wind played with the strands of his long, blue-black hair; you watched until he disappeared from your sight.
The mighty Reaper had a very urgent business to attend to. Which was to press his forehead into Despair’s, put his hands on the animal’s broad neck and respire furiously through the nose.
Breath in, breath out. Not that he needed the oxygen. But it helped to sort out his thoughts, and they were in disarray right now.
The horse gave out a small, inquiring neigh. Death answered with an ambiguous sound of his own; half a snort, half an apologetic chuckle.
