shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowsong26) wrote2009-05-05 11:56 am
shadowsong26) wrote2009-05-05 11:56 am
Entry tags:
i committed fic
Title: Buried Child
Rating: M
Genre: General
Summary: Four years after his village is destroyed, Jet begins to make a new family.
Warning: There will be fairly graphic content later in this story.
Jet had been wandering for close to four years, drifting from town to town, stealing food and clothing when he needed it and no one would give it to him, begging for sword lessons and survival tips from anyone who looked like they might be even remotely friendly to a loner war orphan.
Enemy troops he sabotaged, in any way he could. It wasn't much, but it was the only way he could fight back.
So when he saw the little plume of smoke through the trees, he approached it, figuring it would be soldiers of either army, and he could get a little training or a little justice. He was still for a moment, then quietly inched along the snow. It was deep and fresh enough to muffle his steps, but he didn't want to take any chances.
When he guessed he was about five yards away from the campfire, he found a suitable tree and scrambled up, shimmying along the branches until he was close enough to see the--
--not soldiers. Instead, a small, very thin boy maybe a year younger than Jet himself, wrapped up in mismatched red and green rags was huddled as close as he could safely get to a small campfire. His feet were wrapped in more rags--if he'd ever had shoes, they'd been gone for a while.
He's like me, Jet thought. He'd run across other war orphans before, but none of them had been alone, the way he and this tattered stranger were. Most of them had siblings, or other kids from their towns, or even aunts or uncles or grandparents to look after them. A few had even invited him to stay. He had, for a while, but he'd never really felt a part of their families. This lone orphan, on the other hand...
Jet almost never thought about how lonely his life was, choosing instead to focus on his bitter, vengeful brand of justice. But he was lonely, and this other boy was probably lonely, too. He certainly wasn't dressed for the weather, and looked like he hadn't been able to find much food. He could teach the kid what he'd learned over the last four years, and help him steal some shoes, at least. And maybe they could stick together for a while. Then they wouldn't have to be lonely anymore.
Once decided upon this course of action, Jet slid down the tree and approached the boy's fire. "Hey."
The smaller boy jerked awake in an instant, spinning around with a stick from his fire held in one hand and a short knife in the other. The knife had something written on it, but Jet couldn't see what it was from this distance. Both weapons were shaking a little, the kid was shivering with either fear or cold or both, eyes wide with definite fright.
Golden eyes.
Fire eyes.
Jet's own eyes widened and he took a step back, reaching for his own weapons. He wasn't that good with the hook-swords yet, but he could easily take a half-starved, half-frozen--
Half.
Jet paused.
He wasn't an idiot or an innocent. Some of the war orphans he'd met had been mixed, politely called "soldier's children." It had taken a while for Jet to understand the brutal crimes lying behind that delicate euphemism. That would explain why he was alone, too. The "soldier's children" Jet had seen before had been on the fringes of their groups, tolerated but not welcome. They almost never had siblings.
He really is all alone, even more than I am.
Jet relaxed and pulled his hand away from his swords, spreading them out in front of himself. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Jet."
The younger boy watched him suspiciously for a minute, then suddenly let out a slightly raspy yelp--his fire stick had burned down to his hand. He dropped the knife as well, starting to cough a little. Jet took this opportunity to approach, keeping his hands out, so the other boy could see he wasn't holding a weapon. "It's okay," he repeated. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Jet. What's yours?"
He caught his breath, and then was quiet for several minutes. "L-Lee," he finally stammered out.
"It's nice to meet you," Jet said. "Can I sit here?"
Lee hesitated another long moment, then started coughing again. Finally, he nodded.
Jet settled down on the opposite side of the campfire, poking it up a bit. It wasn't really enough to keep even a kid Lee's size warm. The younger boy just watched him, every so othen breaking into another coughing fit, until he finally fell asleep again, curling up so close to the fire he was practically inside it. Jet waited another few minutes, then went around the fire to check on the kid, mostly to make sure his hands and feet weren't frostbitten too bad.
Lee was somewhat lucky; he was underweight and had a fever, but no frostbite. It could have been a lot worse. Jet breathed a sigh of relief and stayed close to the kid, staring up at the stars and sharing body heat. Less than a half hour later, he had joined his new friend in sleep.
Rating: M
Genre: General
Summary: Four years after his village is destroyed, Jet begins to make a new family.
Warning: There will be fairly graphic content later in this story.
Jet had been wandering for close to four years, drifting from town to town, stealing food and clothing when he needed it and no one would give it to him, begging for sword lessons and survival tips from anyone who looked like they might be even remotely friendly to a loner war orphan.
Enemy troops he sabotaged, in any way he could. It wasn't much, but it was the only way he could fight back.
So when he saw the little plume of smoke through the trees, he approached it, figuring it would be soldiers of either army, and he could get a little training or a little justice. He was still for a moment, then quietly inched along the snow. It was deep and fresh enough to muffle his steps, but he didn't want to take any chances.
When he guessed he was about five yards away from the campfire, he found a suitable tree and scrambled up, shimmying along the branches until he was close enough to see the--
--not soldiers. Instead, a small, very thin boy maybe a year younger than Jet himself, wrapped up in mismatched red and green rags was huddled as close as he could safely get to a small campfire. His feet were wrapped in more rags--if he'd ever had shoes, they'd been gone for a while.
He's like me, Jet thought. He'd run across other war orphans before, but none of them had been alone, the way he and this tattered stranger were. Most of them had siblings, or other kids from their towns, or even aunts or uncles or grandparents to look after them. A few had even invited him to stay. He had, for a while, but he'd never really felt a part of their families. This lone orphan, on the other hand...
Jet almost never thought about how lonely his life was, choosing instead to focus on his bitter, vengeful brand of justice. But he was lonely, and this other boy was probably lonely, too. He certainly wasn't dressed for the weather, and looked like he hadn't been able to find much food. He could teach the kid what he'd learned over the last four years, and help him steal some shoes, at least. And maybe they could stick together for a while. Then they wouldn't have to be lonely anymore.
Once decided upon this course of action, Jet slid down the tree and approached the boy's fire. "Hey."
The smaller boy jerked awake in an instant, spinning around with a stick from his fire held in one hand and a short knife in the other. The knife had something written on it, but Jet couldn't see what it was from this distance. Both weapons were shaking a little, the kid was shivering with either fear or cold or both, eyes wide with definite fright.
Golden eyes.
Fire eyes.
Jet's own eyes widened and he took a step back, reaching for his own weapons. He wasn't that good with the hook-swords yet, but he could easily take a half-starved, half-frozen--
Half.
Jet paused.
He wasn't an idiot or an innocent. Some of the war orphans he'd met had been mixed, politely called "soldier's children." It had taken a while for Jet to understand the brutal crimes lying behind that delicate euphemism. That would explain why he was alone, too. The "soldier's children" Jet had seen before had been on the fringes of their groups, tolerated but not welcome. They almost never had siblings.
He really is all alone, even more than I am.
Jet relaxed and pulled his hand away from his swords, spreading them out in front of himself. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Jet."
The younger boy watched him suspiciously for a minute, then suddenly let out a slightly raspy yelp--his fire stick had burned down to his hand. He dropped the knife as well, starting to cough a little. Jet took this opportunity to approach, keeping his hands out, so the other boy could see he wasn't holding a weapon. "It's okay," he repeated. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Jet. What's yours?"
He caught his breath, and then was quiet for several minutes. "L-Lee," he finally stammered out.
"It's nice to meet you," Jet said. "Can I sit here?"
Lee hesitated another long moment, then started coughing again. Finally, he nodded.
Jet settled down on the opposite side of the campfire, poking it up a bit. It wasn't really enough to keep even a kid Lee's size warm. The younger boy just watched him, every so othen breaking into another coughing fit, until he finally fell asleep again, curling up so close to the fire he was practically inside it. Jet waited another few minutes, then went around the fire to check on the kid, mostly to make sure his hands and feet weren't frostbitten too bad.
Lee was somewhat lucky; he was underweight and had a fever, but no frostbite. It could have been a lot worse. Jet breathed a sigh of relief and stayed close to the kid, staring up at the stars and sharing body heat. Less than a half hour later, he had joined his new friend in sleep.