Gray frowned, "And you don't?" evidently, not trusting the leprechaun one bit.
The Leprechaun chuckled lightly. He simply unbuttoned his coat to sneakily show Gray what was in there.
Gray's eyes shone a bit.
The Leprechaun saw the look on his face, "yer want some, yeah!?"
Gray frowned. This was free food. In all the years of his former life, free food was always never free.
"Aye, me name be Samuel, but they call me Samuel the Sneaky Fingers," the Leprechaun said with a sly grin, his eyes glinting mischievously. "I've earned that name fair and square, I have! Don't worry Werecub. I have had me share and all stuffed up,"
The Leprechaun, Samuel. revealed the concealed treasure—fresh bread. Its aroma, a tantalizing mix of warmth and yeast, filled the dank air, momentarily cutting through the pervasive scent of despair.
Gray's eyes, bloodshot and weary, met Samuel's mischievous gaze. The leprechaun's smile, an enigmatic curve of lips, hinted at secrets only he knew.
He extended the bread, an offering of sustenance amid the darkness. Gray's frown, etched deep from distrust, softened momentarily. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the bread, torn between suspicion and the desperate hunger that clawed at his belly. It had been at least two weeks since he last ate food.
This body was young, too young. the stamina and endurance his former body had from pushing through the tough of the world was none nonexistent. All he had was his mind and his Will.
But right now, that was terribly drained. If he had not been a Werewolf, he might have really died by now. After all, he had been feeding his sister his own blood for two weeks straight.
This was really the best time for the devil to raise its tempting fingers.
However, before Gray could decide, Cherry, her eyes wide with hunger, darted forward.
Her fingers, delicate yet determined, snatched the bread from Samuel's hands. The leprechaun's eyes twinkled with amusement as Cherry devoured the bread, her hunger silencing the caution that usually guarded her actions.
Gray, chest tightened with frustration, he could not help but sigh loudly but the sound of it was lost amidst the storm's fury. He turned to Samuel, his lips parting to apologize, but to his surprise, the Leprechaun dismissed it with a jovial chuckle.
"It's no harm, young miss," Samuel said, his voice carrying a soothing cadence that contrasted the chaos outside. "A bit of bread never hurt anyone, especially not someone as hungry as your sister."
With the tension momentarily eased, Samuel settled beside them. His presence, though unexpected, brought a curious sense of uncomforted company.
As the storm raged on outside, Samuel began to speak. His voice, rich and lilting like a melody, wove tales of his capture. He spoke of the glimmering allure of gold and the hunters' cunning trap, as they used gold to capture him.
His words painted vivid images in the minds of both Gray and Cherry.
For Cherry that had not seen much of the outside world, Samuel's stories were of a comforting distraction she could not resist. They were like a candle sparking light to her recently made dark world.
Gray was still suspicious, but this was the first time in the last few days that he had seen her eyes spark with stars and her lips curve with a smile. He was not so cruel to take that away from her.
Soon the stories became a lifeline, a thread connecting their shared suffering. As cherry also narrated how their unfortunate circumstance had unfurled.
Sadness and laughter, albeit bitter, echoed within the damp confines of their floating prison.
Gray, his guard gradually lowering, found himself laughing alongside Samuel.
The Leprechaun's tales, infused with both tragedy and humor, resonated with Gray's own experiences in his past life. Their shared laughter, a momentary escape from their grim reality, echoed with a haunting beauty amidst the storm's wrath.
As the night deepened, Samuel's words became a comforting melody, lulling Gray into a sense of camaraderie and trust. The Leprechaun's eyes, though mischievous, held a glint of understanding, bridging the gap between their worlds. Samuel, sensing Gray's fatigue, made an offer—a rare gesture of kindness.
"I can watch over your sister, my friend," Samuel offered, his tone genuine. "You need your rest, and I promise, I'll keep her safe."
Gray, caught between weariness and caution, hesitated. He pretended to sleep, his eyelids dropping with fatigue, yet his ears attuned to every sound around him.
Twice Gray feigned slumber, secretly observing Samuel's interactions with Cherry. The Leprechaun, true to his word, became Cherry's silent guardian. He whispered tales of magic and wonder, painting a world beyond the iron bars that caged them.
With each passing moment, trust, fragile as gossamer, began to weave its tendrils around Gray's heart.
The Leprechaun's genuine care for Cherry, his sincerity in guarding her rest, chipped away at Gray's defenses. The world around them seemed to fade, replaced by the comforting presence of a newfound ally.
In the end, exhausted by trust and the burden of his sister's safety, Gray relinquished his vigil.
He allowed himself to succumb to the pull of sleep, his senses dulled by weariness. Meanwhile, Samuel, remained true to his word, a silent sentinel watching over Cherry in the ship's stifling darkness.
Within the confines of their prison, the storm's fury raged on, but amidst the chaos, a fragile alliance had been formed—a bond born of shared suffering and an unspoken hope for freedom.
Gray's eyelids, heavy with sleep's embrace, finally closed, surrendering to a respite that felt as fragile as the flickering candlelight in the storm's relentless wind.
This was Gray's mistake.
About an hour into true sleep, his hands suddenly felt empty. it was not the first time that Cherry had leaned away from him in enjoyment of the stories, but this time around, when she leaned back into him, he no longer felt the warmth and softness of her skin.
Instead, it was cold wet stone.
Like an angry mother tiger, his eyes shut open, "Cherry...!"