"Ishmael! Ishmael!!" The shriek and panicked voice of a little girl—deformed by the ferocious growlings of a large rottweiler echoes round the hushed field.
Summer benelovent orthopteras, intrinsic in the free meadow, self-possesed, they sing harmonizing with the trickling, burbling musical murmers of a river nearby.
July in the air, swirls the twilight breeze in her hair. Her little form quivers in the little weary, white summer dress.
The little girl dared not keep her eyes open, afraid the beast, twice her size would gobble her down. Dribbling hot tears swims down her scarlet, red chubby cheeks. Heart thrumming loud, she hopes; all's nothing but a nightmare.
With each elapse of time, the vicious beast growls in a more aggressive way.
Almost hurdling at her—it's blades to claw out the pretty red into shreds, grim eyes glaring, the sharp fangs to bite a chunk of her fiesh, the monstrous thing is salivating.
Fear stricken—her slender hands trembles. A spare twig of a fig tree in her fisted hold, pointed at the beast. Functioning, keeping the animal at bay. She's praying, begging for the fragile armament to magically vanish the beast.
Then an unforeseen... A sudden warmth radiates close. And it instantly, strangely lulls her little trembling heart. When she slowly unveils an eye to peek at the scene, a heart-wrenching whimper escapes her lips.
He was here; the one, who had accompanied her to revel in the charm-work of golden twinkling fireflies this close of day. She had bitterly, lost sight of him moments ago.
He stands there; resembling a shield guarding a soldier.
"Neva, don't worry. I'm here. I will protect you." He says, a voice so saccharine, yet so sturdy.
"Ishmael–" Neva hiccups—little sniffles accompanying her mollified sobs.
Ishmael's orbs burns a murderous intend. He has his arms spread apart, obscuring his Neva from any danger. Piercing eyes, stiff expression, a stark contrast to the little soft boy features of his.
He parted ways to pluck wild berries, which he discovered few days before in the wilderness. He left her, reasuring her; he will be back, and accompany her in a blink of an eye.
The curved up lips fell, sweet and sour black berries dropped from his hands—splattering on the green grassy ground.
The motive to surprise, dimming in his eye, for his beloved was being tremored by a wild rottweiler.
The little man raced faster than the birds freed from the cages. He had spared not a chance for the creature to take heed of him. Alike a gale; he routed to protect little Neva.
He stands firm, safeguarding her.
Enraged, the beast barks louder, it's expression hinting at an approaching apocalypse.
Ishmael scans the ground surrounding round. A burning clash of glares, he slowly moves away. His gaze chained to the beast.
The animal has long shifted his target to the boy, slightly larger looking than the girl. Ishmael irking the wild animal greater than she did.
The crude rottweiler had a fur of faded tan and a taupe colour, a long scar vertically lining it's eyes. His form follows along the motion of the boy. An instinct, to Ishmael's approaching scheme.
Ishmael picks up a huge rock by the river bank, almost the size of his head. He lifts it up, his face scrunching from the force, utilising nature's bare offering into a weapon. All the while, the beast carried on with the roars, unable to attack, a thunder in the sky, without the courage to draw droplets.
The overwhelming weight of the rock abuses his growing form. Nevertheless, flinching not a muscle—lifting the rock above the level of his head, rallying strength—he screams.
In the lightning of a passing moment, he hurls the rock at he growling beast. The dog is shoved afar, screeched away, a high-pitched yelp slicing the surround, it's shoulder bursted open, splattering out—hot red blood.
Ishmael did not cradle a cruel heart, he did not wish to murder the dog, only, he did injure it awfully. The creature wails aloud in pain, blood dying the fur red. The wounded, wavering dog rises up, one of his fore-limp not moveable.
Frightened and tamed the savage rottweiler, staggers away—howling in agony.
Merciless eyes of Ishmael's swirls soft, his vision on the shivering Neva.
"Neva," His warm voice fails to reach her appalled state.
He hurries to check on her. His palms gently caressing her cold ones, he attempts to throw away the twig from her tightened fists.
"Let go Neva." He says, warm voice swilrling away the haze in her mind.
She peers up at him, her lips quivering. Her posture loosened, her hold unfastening, Ishmael slips the twig through the breach, tossing it away.
The adorable fair face of the boy, mirrors in her eyes, those bright cocoa orbs radiating warmth.
"You left me Ishmael," She sniffs.
"I-I was so scared." Her orbs dripped in honey shed pearls like tears.
The bright sun of the noon, wearing a mystical shade of orange hue—peeking through the lilac clouds, painting the sky along red, orange and lilac. The breeze sweet and soothing. Birds chirping, their flying silhouettes, a route through the misty clouds.
Casted upon golden luminescence, Neva looks especially, enchanting and pretty at this very moment. Her little whimpers, cracks his trance from the fantastical presence in front of him. "Shh~ I'm here now. Be afraid no more." Embracing her, he pats her head, attempting to calm her down. His words the most delightful he ever breath out.
She clings her arms around him, gradually stabling her breathing.
"Ishmael... please don't leave me anymore,"
She trails off, her her little rosy lips budding a pout.
Parting apart from her, he gazes down her wet feathery, long fluttering lashes. Her cheeks and nose in shades of scarlet, alike a red ripened apple.
"I won't ever leave you anymore." He wipes away her tears with his tiny palms, eyes a parallel to the delighted smile on his lips.
His heart overflowing with her adorableness.
"Promise?" In a small, sweet voice she asks. A hand over his heart, "I promise." He assures, smiling, having her mirror back the curve up of the lips.
"Come on, let's go home." Ishmael says, reaching for her hand. Neva nods her head, holding tight onto his hand.
They walk up the high slope with grass green, white daisies sprawling, blooming around, leading to the main street.
Thousands of little glittering fireflies, near the river bank, just starting to illuminate the scene. The chilly night approaching...
---
The sounds of bird chirping, re-echoes around the swallow mountain. The isolated mansion erected in the heart of the dense forest.
Sun rays, slyly peeping through the tiny slits of the dark blue curtains.
Eyelids twitching, the eyes eventually peeling open. A gloomy gaze staring at the dark grey ceiling—drowning the soul.
He props himself up to sit, a sigh ripping out his parched lips. The pitch black, cold room, clouding his domain with numbness.
Eyes bare and bleak, the dark hue encricling his orbs hints one of those sleepless night.
Such well sculpted frame of a man. Nevertheless, the treacherous aura eminating from out the lone soul has one shiver, dispirited.
For the nightmare of breathing the same air enclosing him; splits the heart and masticates the brain.
He had the dream; the same one still. The dream of a precious memory of him and the most precious person of his.
"Where are you?" He whispers, his lips heavy, failing to draw out her name. He's swallowing the lump of agony down his throat. Rough, calloused palms rubs his face—heaving out yet another exhausted sigh.
Mentally preparing for the hours of roving, burying his mind in workload—approaching.
His body being sturdy, yet in a weakened state, because of a wound.
A wound which does not heal no matter the rest and efforts he gets.
For only; The One shall be the reviver.