[Xiao Xingchen always seems to draw the short stick in the past few months. He doesn't mind, no. In fact, much the opposite. Going out insures him that he can still work in the world, still bring about change and help others, even if they take advantage of him. A couple merchants take advantage, yes, but one day Xingchen's kindness will affect them, change them. Not today, but some day. This give and take, this walk down from the Coffin House has grown familiar enough to be comfortable and pleasant. The change in the flow of the breeze indicates when to turn, to pass the stone marking his new home.
On his way back up the path to the Coffin House, however, the breeze brings something else with it: the scent of blood.
No.
His deliberate, slow steps speed up as his legs carry him through the gates. He doesn't wait to call out to his companions; if a threat appears it should do so in front of him.]
A-Qing! [The kind stranger he saved has yet to give him his name and Xingchen never required one until now. The thought only increases the newly-set blaze of fear in his chest.] A-Qing! Little Blind!
[He pauses to listen and the sounds of labored breathing lead him up to the Coffin House itself. Here, the stench of blood nearly overpowers, stains his senses and drives his need to protect.]
A-Qing! [Where is she? Is this her blood soaking into the dust? Will he find her corpse already cool to the touch? And what of the stranger? Was he close? Was he alive?
Xingchen followed the sounds of the heavy breathing, searching hands finding knees in the darkness. Heavy, textured fabrics. The stranger. The friend. The waft of blood stains him too. No time. His fingers search urgently for a wound, for something to bandage and heal and press closed.] You are hurt.
au where xxc gets groceries that day
On his way back up the path to the Coffin House, however, the breeze brings something else with it: the scent of blood.
No.
His deliberate, slow steps speed up as his legs carry him through the gates. He doesn't wait to call out to his companions; if a threat appears it should do so in front of him.]
A-Qing! [The kind stranger he saved has yet to give him his name and Xingchen never required one until now. The thought only increases the newly-set blaze of fear in his chest.] A-Qing! Little Blind!
[He pauses to listen and the sounds of labored breathing lead him up to the Coffin House itself. Here, the stench of blood nearly overpowers, stains his senses and drives his need to protect.]
A-Qing! [Where is she? Is this her blood soaking into the dust? Will he find her corpse already cool to the touch? And what of the stranger? Was he close? Was he alive?
Xingchen followed the sounds of the heavy breathing, searching hands finding knees in the darkness. Heavy, textured fabrics. The stranger. The friend. The waft of blood stains him too. No time. His fingers search urgently for a wound, for something to bandage and heal and press closed.] You are hurt.