At the first sound of steps, he thought he might’ve been lucky – a chance, an opportunity finally seized. So he waited in feral, decadent silence, surrounded by the calm tranquility, by the sensation of springs and power, wisdom and sagacity, incapable of understanding it all. He merely bided his time, taking a few deep breaths, staring off into the expanse as if he were one with it (and everyone knew it wasn’t true – the seditious torment built through his blood echoed in darkness, in fortitude, in might, so the glimmer of gods never looked his way, never gave him a second thought).
They continued, soft, and he remained impenetrably still, a statue, a monument, a Colossus in the snow, until the hushed hello transpired over the terrain, and the aspirations sunk with it. It hadn’t been the luxere at all, and the instant slipped away, a ghost, an enigma, a quandary he wouldn’t be able to fathom. He recognized the voice though, tilted his head at its muffled inquiry, wondered why the baker passed through here. Perhaps she was a believer, and had come to bow to her saints and patrons, to worship and pledge vows; he had half a notion to simply leave altogether, allow the deities their moment of peace with a pious being.
The Reaper supposed if she wanted any stranger to vacate the surroundings, she’d ask; and on a strange, impulsive note, he poked his head around the tree previously guarding his position. She was frozen there, in mid-stance, and he almost laughed, because it reminded him of the same animals he scoured for, either awaiting the right moment to flee or to stand their ground. “Hello,” he whispered back, caught in a state of amusement with half a smile curled along his lips, before ducking back behind the timber, as if he hadn’t been there.
