Blood makes the grass grow.

A humid breeze swept into the dense mass of trees. It flew through their leaves, rattling them as it passed. Branches curved and swerved, spreading shadows onto the ground. The sun was barely able to pass the nearly opaque leafing of the forest, and it created rays of light where it pierced the green barrier. Under the shield of criss-crossing branches and overlapping leaves, the scenery was lush and pleasant. The soil was moist with the recent rainfalls. The tree trunks were colored in different variations of brown, going from rust-tainted to copper-stained.
Even though emerald life was abundant in this area, the sound was as still as the ominous silence that preceded the foreboding sensation. No animal was crawling, and no birds were chanting. A deathly lull hung over in the flourishing woodland.
A figure lay on the ground, illuminated in a large beam of light which broke through the leafing. It relaxed in a large puddle of crimson liquid, which ever so slowly spread outwards. The silhouette's eyes reflected blue colors in the light, staring up above, at nothingness. Its clothing had flattened itself in the blood, now soiled with it. The boy did not breathe at all as the air blew through his golden hair.

A tiny little light, with the orange glow that a campfire naturally causes, silently shone through the now dim forest. Gentle night had fallen, engulfing every single being and piece of nature that currently resided here in its dark coat. The improvised sleeping place had been obviously set up hastily, seeing as darkness, nowadays, arrived quickly and had gotten the tendency to suddenly surprise a traveler when he clearly did not expect it, thus bringing to him what might be danger. In the warm and almost inviting glow of the fire, a small copper cooking pot and roaster could be made out in the middle of it, slowly starting to glow red as the flames had been hungrily licking the metal for what was a rather long period of time. Nothing was in it. This improvised stay had been hurriedly constructed near a large oak, that stood deep in the woods. It wasn’t built it in an open place, as most seemed to be. The fact that speed was absolutely vital perhaps could have played in it, however, there might have been another, more demanding something that could have caused the traveler to act as carelessly as he did. A bed, ‘collection of leafs’ would also be fitting here, looked empty and left behind at the base of the oak. A dark cloak seemed to serve as cover against the cold. The owner was nowhere to be seen.

Possessions, like a simple, though dangerously looking, dagger, a sort of leather bag, undoubtedly to put away the cooking tools, were put close to the dancing fire. Rustling leafs abruptly disturbed the illusion of silence that night always triggered. Little twigs snapped, the surprised flapping of wings now and then interfering with the breathing and cracking forest sounds. Stumbling, a strangely bulky figure appeared, large calculated steps quickly bringing him closer to the centre of his camp. With a muffled grunt he let the still warm body of a deer limply drop on the ground, from its previous position on his shoulders, next to the fire, then nonchalantly threw an old bow and some arrows towards the bed. He groaningly tilted his head from left to right, rubbing his neck now it had finally been released from its heavy load, then crouched down. He swiftly took the small dagger, determinedly piercing the dead animal’s skin. Blood had soaked its hide where the few arrows that had hit it were deeply embedded inside its body.

After a few soundless moments of rapid incising, it was skinned and almost ready. The man wiped away some sweatbeads that had gathered on his tanned face. His hands forcefully turned the deer around, exposing its belly towards him, ready to be gutted and then, finally, cooked, roasted, and eaten. He sighed as he did so, afterwards burying the insides in the dark earth and so effortlessly deposing of the more distasteful parts of the animal. Dry lips and an equally dry throat from all the effort to hunt for food had gotten really itchy and annoying. He jumped right, grabbed the leather bag, got out of it a bottle of what smelled like beer, then went to sit before the corpse again. A half hearted smile graced his handsome features, the scars not that clear in the dark, as he gladly drank a mouthful of the alcohol. Striking blue eyes narrowed at the meat before him; the beer was already forgotten and rolled over the grass, generously spilling some of the liquid. His clench around the dagger tightened as he angrily struck forward, hunger starting to gnaw at him. Several parts of flesh were expertly cut off, almost ready to be eaten.

He rose again, now taking some herbs from the leather bag to make his meal a little more appetizing than normally. As he generously seasoned the meat, a content expression could be discerned somewhere deep in his eyes. Or perhaps it was the slight curling of the corners of his lips, that did it. Nonetheless, he poured some water in the copper pot, and carefully lay a few parts of the freshly hunted meat on the roaster. A few meters further, he washed his hands and arms, cleaning away the blood, while using as less water as possible. A yawn, he absently pulled at some ties in his breastplate to release himself from the heavy cuirass and placed it safely next to the improvised bed, together with his other belongings that were rather valuable. He stretched out, a long deep sigh then momentarily joined the happy sizzling of the meat, that leisurely filled the air with a pleasant smell, as he calmly turned around, towards what would become his dinner. He decided to advance a bit closer to the fire, holding his hands above it in order to warm himself, and thanked whatever gods there might be in this world for the animal. The nights were very cold, indeed, his hands closed more distance between themselves and the source of warmth, ignoring how the heath increased to a painful extent. He blankly stared into the wild red flames, his mind traveling to a completely different time, long ago...

The boy's docile blue eyes stared into the nothingness above, narrowing them slightly at the light which pierced the dense leafing of the trees above. Both legs stretched outwards, and two arms laying down in the opposite direction, as if this boy had fallen out of the branch of the tree he had been climbing. He was as still as statue, seeming as if he had broken his back on his supposed fall from above. The dark blood around him only seemed to cover more ground by the second, slowly advancing and clumsily engulfing the green grass under. The boy's chest lay straight, not moving, not breathing.

The mocking air of a small bird shot through the leaves of one tree, before its form rapidly descended onto the ground. The boy's eyes widened at the sight, and turned his head to where the bird was landing. The small volatile extended its legs, and a spot of blood retracted exactly where it landed, leaving dried ground under where the lively grass had been before. The boy began breathing once more, his chest delicately lifting and lowering as oxygen filled his lungs. His purple skin, though, did not change hue by any way at all, even though his eyes were as soft as a child's. His whole body contradicted everything he saw from those two purple-blue circles, from which he saw the world. The bird answered his childlike expression with a teasing whistle, before lifting off and disappearing in the trees once more. The viscous liquid took its place back almost immediately, before resuming to stretch itself on the ground.

Only moments later did he notice a disturbance. Lying his head sideways on the ground, his ears managed to detect the smallest of thumping against the ground. Not noticing it at first, his mind throwing it away as if it were only a mere animal swiftly walking on the ground, his ears pricked a sound any other ear would've thought of as trivial. The gentle smacking of liquid water against one's surface. The blood instantly lifted itself into the air, curling into thousands of sinful branches, swaying around everywhere as the boy rolled to the back of his head and leaped up to his feet. The blood swindled around him, flaking gently before entering a large wound on his right arm. The wound seemed to close as the blood entered, forcedly tightening it. The boy's blue eyes scanned the forest meticulously before his hearing sense helped him pick up, once again, the smallest of sounds. It came from behind him. And he knew it was human.

It had been only too long since a being of the human race had entered this part of the forest, especially for a reason as graceless as this one. The boy had lost the usual daily habit of meeting the others of the city, and, it had only been a few days since he had been in this forest that they had picked up his stride once more. That was it -he couldn't deny human's knowledge no more. He had to send a sign. Whatever sign, to stop them from committing the irreparable. They must stop tracking him now. The boy's blood began to boil in his veins, an air of ferocity dancing across his once gentle face. He advance, without a sound, in the direction of the previous noise, blood starting to pour from his arm once more. It curled around his forearm, appearing as dangerous spikes at the end of his fingers, gently waving with the wind.

The boy stopped behind a tree, from where he was sure that he would be heard almost throughout the whole forest. He didn't need to raise his voice that much to make himself heard by a mere human. Their ears were weak, yes, but, nonetheless, they weren't as deaf as he would've previously thought. The boy unzipped his black jacket, the silver zipper glinting in the sunlight before he shoved both hands in the large pockets and grunted, trying to get the man's attention.
"Hey, you," he called out, from behind the large tree. His voice was harsh and tough-sounding, the complete opposite of what one would've thought of a boy of his appearance and age. The boy sensed a strong, greasy smell in the air, and his face cringed in disappointment. Sighing loudly, he continued, "you're cremating the flesh."

It all happened in one quick instant. His eyes focused again in mere fractions of a second, being violently torn out of his ponderings, as he shot forward to the so-called bed and skillfully grabbed the old trustworthy sword in a much repeated action. Attilio’s stance immediately stood in a hostile position, ready to take on whatever the disturbance was. He rapidly glanced back to the kettle and roaster, the foul smell of flesh being burnt to ash had reached his nose as well. An incredibly annoyed expression swept over his tanned features. The man mentally cursed at himself for ruining what could have been a great meal for once. He slightly shook his head at himself; now was not the time to even do so much as pondering about it. Eyes dangerously flickered at the younger guy near the tree, a few large steps brought him closer to the intruder. A menacing air seemed to have surrounded him as soon as he started to approach the boy.

Attilio licked his dry lips that were slightly pulled backwards in an almost invisible snarl. Barely noticeable was the small bow his head made in a gesture of the tiniest bit of honour and respect for that stranger. No, he was not an unmannered vagabond. Not in the least. “Tell me, stranger”, Attilio slowly started, his deep voice sounding threatening through the space, a darker tone seeping through the carefully dosed amounts of hostility as he spoke, “what is the undoubtedly fine cause of this…” Eyes narrowed, taking in the peculiar appearance of the other, “highly undesired disturbance?” Having said this, a tensed silence met the stranger on the prospect of receiving a proper answer. The man’s hostile stare stubbornly refused to leave the unknown person’s figure.

The boy came out of his little hiding place, still sniffing the scorched air. He turned his eerie purple-blue eyes to the man, white teeth gleaming abnormally as a sneer stretched across his rose-red lips. His two hands placed in the large pockets of his black jacket, the zipper dangling gently as he swayed closer, the childish air he once had had now fully disappeared, to be replaced by complete awe. He nevertheless stopped in the shadows, where no ray of light had been shot from the clouds of green. Staring at the man and scanning him at once to see if he was a potential danger or not, the boy made no hostile movement nor any nervous twitch, standing completely adamant a few meters away from the man.

"Highly undesired disturbance?" the boy scoffed, chuckling lowly back at the man after he pronounced the words. The boy's eyes were not gazing at the man arrogantly or nothing in the matter, but neither did he do the exact opposite. This man was just another clumsy human to his vision and thought, no more no less. "No, no, I think you've got it completely wrong," he continue, lifting his chin slightly to stare at the man under the faint curtain of fiery hair. "The disturbance of the beauty of this area is none other than you. You are a human, after all." The boy teased the human, knowing that he had nothing to be afraid of. Humans had important minds in frail bodies, all they could do was think of a way to get you while you aren't looking.

Attilio expertly subdued the repulsed urge to back off as the horrid, at least in his opinion, appearance of the boy became clear. Chilly metal in his hand slightly calmed him on that account. The pale violet tinted skin was incredibly revolting. What was he? If he was a person at all, he darkly noted. Beasts deserve to be slaughtered. Though this was merely one example of the many thoughts that were passing his mind at top speed. The most pressing one, however, was the fact that this being, this unknown creature, had just insulted him. A threatening deep growl, sounding unexpectedly inhumane, rippled from his throat as he almost wolf-like snarled. The sound gave the impression to have filled the forest with a strange tension. His chest heaved up simultaneously with the heavy breathing after this exposure. “Human”, the dark haired man repeated to himself, a lasting raged growl giving his voice an infuriated tinge, “says who exactly?” With some effort, he pierced the sword deeply into the damp forest earth. “What is a human?” He went on, closely eyeing the intruder who obviously was anything but human. What kind of ‘human’ would be, well, purple after all. Although he had to admit that he had absolutely no knowledge about diseases and similar things. Oddly enough, Attilio crouched down on the ground. Resting there, his clear gaze contemplatively turned towards the other again. “Indulge me.” He harshly spoke. The lack of warmth or friendliness might have been strange to some. Only an icy, unemotional expression lay like a mask over his features when rage was not taking over. At the moment, a mix of the two was evident. Ruthlessness completely distorted his face. Never once did he take off his stare from the one in front of him. Attilio's expression seemed to shift between seething anger and an unsettling calmness. The layer was thin. Each moment it could explode, not dissimilar to a vulcan that had lain dormant for a certain period of time but then had somehow regained power to erupt mercilessly. The sword stuck up from the ground like a cold nail. It had been pushed through the layers of dirt and remained there unmoving and ready to be grasped again by its owner. A heavy sigh passed his lips, over which a scar ran over. The man silenced his own mind and calmly stared down as he carefully, almost tenderly, stroked over the pale line that diagonally slashed over his mouth and stopped somewhere halfway his cheek. The hand clenched at the end and lowered to his knee, he closed his eyes for a second, only to narrow them down as he suspiciously watched this dreadful occurence that had disturbed him. This would not be tolerated. Not in the least.