Project Dream Preview, Chapter 5

“Ugh…” ablink, Alo’s eyes wandered from the smolders to the cornered fur-pile, “Hinto…?” he grazed the emptied dish, “Hinto!” too, his lent, woven cover, “Hinto?! Where are you?!” 

He stormed to the upper floors, “in which,” and breached every dust-laden room, “did he settle?…Ugh…of course,” the foreigner’s luggage was discovered bedside, “in mine…he shouldn’t be here…”

“How foolish…” it hissed within, “for he was beaconed…”

“Hinto?!” the kitchen was next to be searched, “Hinto!?…Where–?” his nostrils twitched, “oh…?”

“I’ve returned!” Hinto echoed, “are you awake?” his boots were scraped then removed, “Alo…? Alo? Ah, there you are, revere the–” a hand shielded his gaze, “y-you’re still undressed?…Ah, a-at least you found your breakfast…”

“M-my,” his chews slowed, “my breakfast?”

“Fresh bread from the baker this morn,” a different parcel was placed on the counter, “given last night, I figured you’d crave solid food.”

“Uh…I…” he grimaced at the partly devoured, self—soiled scheme, “I told you to–”

“Leave, I know, however, how else could I offer this gift?”

“G–” he choked, “gift?”

“A token of solidarity for our first hunt.”

“I…no.”

“Humor me,” t’was slid t’wards, “in exchange, for the day, I’ll leave you be.”

His brow arched, “…you…swear it?”

“I do.”

The runt scarfed the last of his loaf; his fingers were licked of butter ‘fore Hinto’s were brushed aside and the package was haltingly parted:…within, a jade cloak was neatly folded—its fabric, fine, each stitch, each aspect, of mastery, was clearly testament, minus a metallic crest’s barren, oval notch…

“I noticed your cape—so old, so tattered—since I dislike them, replace it with mine.”

“I…I-I shouldn’t have this–”

“T’is no trouble, truly, I wore it but once…”

The threads were longingly felt, “I…I can’t…take it…with mine, I haul game…t’would be ruined…”

“Ah…how unfortunate…”

Alo sulked t’ward the brazier, slipping through his shoulder-torn shirt; his shorts were fastened with rope. 

“You sport naught more?”

“No,” he armed the quiver and the bow.

“T’is frigid…wear a coat, boots, not sandals–”

“You claimed you’d leave me be.”

“Ah…so I did,” he followed to the foyer; on a vacant torch mount, the rejected cloak was perched, “—ah, one moment, I nearly forgot all my gear and maps upstairs!”

“Ugh, the deer will not wait, Easterner!…Nor’ll I…”

Unto Keenda’s end, Alo’s ears remained tucked, his head, low.

“…With them, I’ve lived my life, entire,” he veered from their stares, “yet am a stranger still…”

“Alo!” he flinched, “Alo!” from the butchery, Bono waved.

“…To all…but one,” his hand rose; they exchanged a smile too, though Bono made a swift retreat when others took notice, “at least he sees me off…” 

“What is that—? I’ve not seen one afore—incredible—! How’s it work?”

“How…?” Alo turned, “does what work…?” behind, a horde began to form, “…no,” he snapped ahead, “focus…”

“Show us, please! But one demonstration?”  

“Focus…” sev’ral hastily passed.

“Did you construct it…? Truly?!”

“Focus…fo-” per sudden awes, “-cus?” he froze, “…oh…but one peek…”

 Like the others, Alo attempted to reach the spectacles center, yet the Ursine proved too congested: he desperately hopped on his toes, though, from the fringes, caught merely cursory glances.

“You’re the new hunter who’ll assist the runt?”

“Ah, I am.” 

“Tread lightly, Dark, for he has nasty luck.”

“Yes,” young through old accorded, “the worst! Damn tradition: you should replace him, not work alongside!”

“How weak…” it hissed within, “these words aren’t newly heard, yet newly wound…?”

“Tch, I should’ve known,” Alo withdrew, “I expected no less,” he leered behind, “for years, they longed for another…”

“T’is true,” Hinto forced a smirk, “he’s a runt, though not vile,” his audience chuckled, “I’m earnest…”

“You’ll know in time, Dark!”

“We’ll see, but I’m unsuperstitious and a decent judge of character…I hope…please, make way,” a single motion divided the crowd, “ah, there’s Alo now! I’m off, ‘til we meet again with great bounty and full stomachs. Perhaps then, I may consider a demonstration!”

“Our gratitudes! Best of luck, Dark!” the Ursine roared, “to you, a safe hunt!” they patted his shoulder, his mane, occasionally his rear.

“…They never cheer not for me, but for this…this,” Alo’s muzzle creased, “this foreigner who’s not fed them a single scrap?” his glare weakened: it drifted from Hinto’s grin t’ward his brilliant, sterling crossbow and its kindred, holstered pistol, “…I suppose…he does look the part…”

“…At last,” it cackled, “…all shall be as you deem…”

“…Bono was right,” Alo swayed, “our time was always short…”