His Prey

My ever-changing curfew was fast approaching, as the sun bled towards the horizon. Not that it was solely mine, I might add. But rather the whole of Antarria's.

Yet, despite it's confines (and one's wellbeing), I will admit that I rather preferred dusk over dawn. But at what wild age this opinion had started, I couldn't quite tell you. Only that the returns home were mastered, like a fine art form.

Had it really always been such a glorious sight? I often wondered. Or was it plainly masochism? - Seeing one's life, dance so closely with death.

Speaking of the devil, Cloverfield Place was a favourite of mine - Beaten only by my Spot at the Copse. It held eight lush acres of greenery, one dark secret; And ironically, should you the patience, the odd lucky leaf. But what really stood out, were the mossy cliffs that encased it. They mirrored red-velvet, and ran right-down to the erratic Cyan Sea.

Thus it was here, that I now wandered - Breathes of salty Spring air, tickling my face and plaits. Seasonally speaking, I preffered High Autum, of course - everybody did. It brought about it the relief and new-life feel, that Spring ought to bring. Albeit, for only twelve days. We were allowed to wear colour, for one. Not this tired garment, that was routine for women, through much of the year.

There was nought bonny about the Harveste, Father had said. Besides, it'd bad luck; and not to mention a pity - to render the 'good green linens' to further tatters. Which only had Mother uttering 'Bloody Northerners', or words to that effect. She hadn't coined him wrong, though. So the olde tradition, lingered : From Winter to Mid-Autum's end, colours we would suspend.

Beneath that grey heap termed a dress, trod my old-worn boots. I wouldn't press too much about their official hue - though you're now aware of the narrow range of options. Just know that they were currently, mud-brown; laces and all. The Fare Gardens wouldn't attend themselves, you see and I was no lay-about. My Spot, was also quite the trek. A little reprieve I allowed myself, at the end of each trying day. And whilst the venture had me panging with more hunger than normal, it was well worth it. Especially at this time of year - when the damp might subside.

Luckily, today was such that brolly-free day. Whereby, I might enjoy the ramble home, without a fight with the weather. Nor the labours of sharing cover - with the familiar black chaperone, who now strode at my feet. As it was, Mother really hadn’t wanted another mouth to feed. Yet'd soon learnt how independent the bold feline was. That puss's more away from home, than you are, Finnie. Perdu is it? Yes, a fine name for one with such a temperament. Maybe someday, we'll dub him Cheif Mouser - not of the house, mind.

The warm, teasing memory casted an inward smile.

My apparent rank on the island, didn't lend well to friendships you see. Ewan and Colm really didn't count. Nor did Ms.Beryl. So, when two Winter's back, the little fiend deigned grace me with his presence, I felt comforted. Sometimes, we'd even chit-chat; And he couldn't half talk for Antarria.

When I could get a word in, though, Perdu seemed non-to-impressed. That critical look of his, always conveying what a 'daft mortal' he thought me to be. Let's just say, if cats could report on their humans, I'd be pretty mortified. Thankfully, they could not. And it was nice to admit my innermost thoughts to... anyone, really - particularly one, out of House Hayes. Even if that one did stand on four paws.

"What do you say's for tea, tonight, then, Perds?" I inquired, looking down at him. He looked up, knowingly. "Cottage pie, you think? Not on a third Wednesday, surely?! In our dreams, Perds...In our dreams." If they could, those yellowy orbs would've surely found the back of his head.

In fact, the only time he didn't appear too vexed by me, was when he was away. Well, that and My Spot at the Copse. A place that I'm quite sure he thought of, as His Spot, by now. You know how they are : What's your's is theirs and what's their's is... also their's.

Perdu being my first, though, I hadn't actually known much - about the in's-and-out's of cats. But quickly found that this one, at least, had a penchant for music. He liked soprano and alto but never falsetto and oddly preferred my original pieces. As for the accompanying harp, he'd rather I not, unless it was a ballad. Don't ask how I knew any this, the little sod was quite expressive. And my delicate ears, frankly could not tolerate his grating rebuttals. So I gave in to the requests of the only audience I never waivered, before. In the only place I ever felt myself.

Looking to him again, I found him gone. Which was funny, beacuse if he was about at all, he usually only left once at home. So I turned on my heels, and noticed he'd stopped - some paces back - dead in his tracks.

"What's the matter Per-?" I started. But then, I felt it - we had ourselves, company. Immediatly I wheeled around, my senses probing the scene. Until they locked onto a masculine form - looming at the cliffs - no more than an acre away.

The mortal in me, pulsated with fear. And clenching my terror-stricken eyes closed, I racked my brain as to how they could be here, already.

Impossible. It wasn’t yet Sundown.

I gripped the birthcoin at my neck and prayed he’d be quick - merciful, even. Yet, my mind had other plans. No, it barked firmly, you shan't end like this. Thus did it will me to breathe, before drawing back my lids. So that I might look at the monster - that was clearly to be the last thing I ever beheld in this life - straight in the eye.

However, he hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, his focus looked to be far less about hunting me, and more about what was happening, out at sea.

'Human', everything about him, said now. 'I am one of your kind'. Then, why was he even here? I hadn’t seen a soul out, at such an hour, for yonks.

But as the man teetered on the edge of the cliffside, it dawned on me. He was here to -

- “NOOO!”A feral cry tore through my lips, as I clocked the last of him disappear beneath the grassy ledge.

My heart lept, as my feet propelled me towards the place where he’d last stood. Honestly, it could have been the length of The Isle or that of my bed and I wouldn’t have known. All I knew was that, suddenly, I was there - craning my neck over the brink, careful not to get too close. As if the winds had sprouted homicidal tendancies and pushed him to his grave, unwillingly.

It was a rough three-hundred foot drop, to Cyan’s embrace. An embrace that now held one more bloodied man within her rock-jagged arms. So it was there, that I stood, deafly frozen - gaping down for some time. Thinking that I'd never be able to look away, from that faint sight of raw death. But the dusking sun beaconed me - a dazzling warning.

I had to get home and now. Or I might well end-up begging for Cyan’s hold. Doubtless, a kinder alternative to them.

Numbly and on shaky legs, I bolted back to Hayes House: The field and fare gardens being all but a blur. And as the those familial ivy-clad, stone walls, appeared in my line of vision, my mind dashed from relief to panic. The last smidges of buttery light that reflected on the greens and greys were almost gone. Meaning, the sun must have but a minute left to spare.

Somehow, my quaking legs moved impossibly faster. Whilst thundering heartbeats thumped within my heaving chest - on eyeing the last of the glow, fade.

Seconds now. Hurry!

A final leap allowed me to forcefully rip open the cottage doors. And desperately, I rammed them shut; fumbling with the heavy lock until it bolted into place. I was safe, thank The Danu.

Gulping the inside air, I let the mahogany wood soothe me - as I rested my forehead upon their cool panels. Managing to deflate, bit-by-bit, until - “You’re cutting The Curfew mighty fine, tonight young la-” I whirled around at the new threat. Alarmed to hear anything, over skull-splitting beats.

Only to be met with the crinkled face of Ms.Beryl. “Oh, Finnola, love are you quite alright? You’re paler than a ghost.” Her wisened, blue eyes turned worried, as I slid down the bronze frame, head in hands.

No! I wanted to wail, I wasn’t alright. I’d just seen someone commit the crimson in front of me. Right after I thought I’d be hunted down by those creatures.

All the Antarrian fears, that we continually pushed under - teased about, even - bubbled to the surface. And though I hadn’t actually uttered the words, my old nursemaid seemed to catch on.“Come, petal. Whatever it is that’s troubling you, a bath before super-time will only help matters.” She cooed, taking my elbow. An act she’d done a million times before, in a multitude of ways. Depending on what I had or hadn’t done, this time or that.

Yes, Safe.

“Now, love, isn’t that better?” Ms.Beryl’s veiny hand patted my damp head. Her squat body was barely visible, as she peered at me through the dresser mirror; a frequent image growing-up. Well, that was until my ‘stroppy’ phase arosed. Whereby, I’d insisted - in a way that only a hormonal girl of thirteen, could - on doing my own grooming.

Tonight, however, she'd sensed I needed the childhood comfort - and I was grateful for her tending to me.

I smiled back detachedly, in agreement - still feeling the harsh stings of after-shock.“Well, if it were any other day, I’d be scolding you for making my job that much harder, young missy. Really now, it’s a crime to be getting that ivory skin, so marked. And hair quite so knotty. Takes an age to untangle these raven curls, of yours. These behaviours just won’t do where you’re going, you know?”

And I did know. Maybe that was the reason behind my reckless abandon, lately. I knew I hadn’t long left; of the only life I’d known, these past eighteen years. Clearly, my selfish subconscious needed reigning in.

The island folk needed me to. Antarria needed me to.

Hmm. Such odd words, even in my head.

“But don’t worry, love, we won’t speak on that, tonight. Nor will I inform your parents about your curfew mishap. Whatever happened out there, seems punishment enough.” Ms.Beryl says, softly. Right before adding, “Well, I shan’t let slip, anyhow; can’t speak for The Guarde, though.”

The Guarde. In my hasty retreat home, I hadn’t even seen or given thought to the men on Dusk ’till Dawn watch. Father certainly had to have known about my near-breach, by now. I gulped, dreading what was likely to be a supper-time lecture, with a lengthy dose of guilt-tripping. As if I hadn’t roamed down that path, already.

On lacing up the last of my evening gown, she gestures me out of the room, “Off you pop, then.” I nod, in turn,“Thank you, Ms.Beryl.” And slipped out the door towards the dining room; fresh grey linens sweeping at my feet.