Belmont Family/Salem/It's Going to be Okay

It's Going to be Okay

The Azaghal were all dead asleep. This brief window of peace was going to be taken full advantage of, and Salem believed above all things that a good night's sleep can determine the entire outcome of battle. This night had only one sentry watching the unit's training grounds, The Knight of the Bridge. He sat in a wooden throne, whittling a lion from a piece of oak. In his head was an endless tirade in his father's voice, reminding him of how useless he has been. Salem was never supposed to be a Knight. This was not supposed to be his life. Recently, he was invited to go on a hunt. All this does is haunt him. He's gone on a hunt before. A real hunt. Not against a deer or a rabbit, but against a man cursed under the moon. He continues to whittle, scrape, scrape, scraping the wood, again and again. If he continued to grit his teeth the way he has been, they too will be whittled into lions.

The night fog was dense. Visibility wasn't completely clouded, but it was still difficult to see any further than a few hundred feet. As the night aged under the slivered, crescent moon, seconds dragged on like hours. From the fog, a figure appeared in Salem's view. A spectre, slowly creeping closer. Salem dropped his oak lion and grabbed his spear and shield. He rushed the hunted image, destroying the gap between them with every swift footfall. As his vision continued to betray him, his ears did not. The gap closed further and further until her heard it.

"Nice stick. Come here often?"

He stopped dead in his tracks as imaginary angels swooped down and ripped his spear and shield from his grasp. Only one word managed to squeak out of his lungs as he was crushed between two very familiar arms.

"Nat..."