Hugh's eyes stay locked on the doorway, tensing more and more. He can hear the softer, more careful sounds of someone nearing. That's clearly no animal...
... and he has very little options, here. He could fight back -- but he's exhausted, and more importantly, he doesn't want to subject his bees to what that implies. They're all he has left. The thought of them giving their lives to sting a Trader is more unbearable than the thought of being taken again.
He won't do it to them. So it's resignation that is a heavy weight on his chest, as he prepares himself to go willingly. ...And then the voice speaks, though it's not familiar. The accent isn't English; it's something more foreign to Hugh, who has never been to America and doesn't actually know that's where he is now. The words spoken aren't... typical of the Traders, either?
There's a long silence, and then after a moment, a small hand is parting the vines hanging over the entrance and he steps out, cautiously. The young boy can't be older than eleven or twelve, small, thin, and practically all limb, on the cusp of an inevitable growth spurt.
For a moment, there's surprise as he blinks at the stranger. He looks young, much younger than any of the men Hugh has been running from. Even so, the boy is clearly frightened (but just as clearly trying to keep a brave face, as he lifts his chin up a bit). "I don't mean any harm."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-04-19 03:17 am (UTC)... and he has very little options, here. He could fight back -- but he's exhausted, and more importantly, he doesn't want to subject his bees to what that implies. They're all he has left. The thought of them giving their lives to sting a Trader is more unbearable than the thought of being taken again.
He won't do it to them. So it's resignation that is a heavy weight on his chest, as he prepares himself to go willingly. ...And then the voice speaks, though it's not familiar. The accent isn't English; it's something more foreign to Hugh, who has never been to America and doesn't actually know that's where he is now. The words spoken aren't... typical of the Traders, either?
There's a long silence, and then after a moment, a small hand is parting the vines hanging over the entrance and he steps out, cautiously. The young boy can't be older than eleven or twelve, small, thin, and practically all limb, on the cusp of an inevitable growth spurt.
For a moment, there's surprise as he blinks at the stranger. He looks young, much younger than any of the men Hugh has been running from. Even so, the boy is clearly frightened (but just as clearly trying to keep a brave face, as he lifts his chin up a bit). "I don't mean any harm."