An Act Of Kindness

Whisper was tired, so very tired… When had he last slept well? When had he rested his weary head? He could not remember. Nothing new, he remembered little anyway. The night was long, the rain an endless downpoor, the cold keeping him wide awake. He merely roamed, hoping to find cover, but none would take him in and he simply felt… Tired. He looked down at his clawed hands, those gray hands which sometimes produced shadows, a thing he could not understand. His eyes glitted not to buildings but to allayways. Some could offer him a place to hide, sure, but he chose none. He was… Scared… He knew not even of what, but scared he was, as if he knew a danger lurked. It was why he had not slept. He sighed and marched on, feeling their eyes burn into his back, the eyes of all who look out their windows to peer at the homeless thief. He dared not even ask for aid, for those eyes were like daggers in his paling pelt. He felt them as clear as he felt the cold and the wearyness. He felt himself begin to pass out, but fought it back, still fearing that which he knew was following him, whatever it could be… But just because he fought off the sleep did not mean he remained well awake. His mind was fading, of sorts. He hardly heard the sound as the door opening, instead being blinded by the flight that struck him. Blinglingly briliant were the flashes of colour that flooded forth from the humble above, forcing the young viscet to turn away, blinking a few times before he looked back. The stranger was like a dark silhoette against the blooming magic light that turned the night into day, or so it felt. He saw very little of this stranger, and yet, he saw the gentle smile.

“Come on inside, boy, you must be freezing.”