It stares—no, glowers—from a patch of shadows. Concealed just enough to not be immediately noticed, but not so cleverly concealed as to be entirely unseen.
“Good, that got your attention.”
As he lowers the knife, the shroud barks a cruel, amused laugh.
“You should be on your guard more, kid. People ain't nice around here.”
“ JESUSー ”
where are all these other slashers coming from? like attracts like or whatever, but is he the only one with even an ounce of sense?
if HE'S the sane one, that's pretty sad.
he scrambles out of the way, like some sort of creepy little gargoyle.
Yes, command was the wrong word, he thinks. If anyone commanded the shadows, it was the shroud. All others merely existed within its embrace.
“You would swap the safety of the campfire for the dangers of the shadows purely because it's quieter?”
..ah--
(poor social skills don't allow him much of a chance to piece that together. felt a fool.)
Command might.. not be the best word but--
(a small, quiet chuckle.)
You're.. not wrong. ..it's quieter out here.
“What's got you troubled, son?”
The shroud was careful to announce his presence prior to his words by ensuring the thud of his boots on the stairs were audible. It was a rare kindness he reserved for a select few.