A Raven's Flight
From "The Kestrel and the Raven"
By Swythangel

Last night I dreamt of mistletoes, those red round berries clumped together in a nest of spiky leaves. I've always liked the little plant for its unusual configuration and vibrant colors.

And inevitably, thoughts of mistletoes always turn to thoughts of you and how your mouth feels against mine, warming the coldness of my being.

Plop!

Soft drops of iciness on my cheeks distract me from my thoughts of you and I open my eyes. The snow is starting to fall again. I can see flakes drifting quietly down.

Soon, it will cover the whole ground like a white blanket, and dangerous Somakul will seem like any other peaceful town. I wonder, if I lie here long enough, will the snow also cover me and make me seem like any other normal human being?

A self-deprecating smile tugs at my lips. I am being fanciful again. I must have gotten it from you because I have never, in my life, been this way before.

It had been snowing too the first time I met you…

…Kestrel.

Damn, idiotic snow. I am cursing colorfully and silently as I scrabble across the rooftops. I hate the snow. Not only does it make roads and rooftops slippery, it also makes my fingers freeze. Gods, they are cold. No matter how many times I rub them, they stay cold, as long as I'm out in the snow.

Stiff, frozen fingers are not good in my profession. One false move and I can be sent to the Tower. Not that I care. I have never cared for anything.. ever. That was why the others had given me my name. I am Stone and all I want in life is to feel warm.

Jump, climb, sneak. I lope through the streets and rooftops of Somakul silently, a slim moving shadow blending in the darkness. It's cold and I should've been in the Guildhouse, warming myself by the fire, if not for this mission the Guildmaster gave me.

If it had been anyone else I would have pinned them with a death glare and sent them scurrying off but it had been Flar and no one refused Flar.

"His name is Kestrel Lordain." Flar throws me a small miniature just as he enters the room. I deftly catch it and I stare intently at the painting. I know that my plans for a quiet evening by the fire are shot.

I memorize his features for reference. Blue eyes, blonde hair, approximately my age, which would make him about 18 to 20 summers.

"Kill him as soon as possible."

I nod, still looking at the painting. After a second, I throw it back to Flar and fling a question at him.

"Weapons expertise?"

"Unknown. The boy-man just came into town today. But he carries a sword, assume proficiency."

"Clean or torture?" I could have been talking about the weather for all the emotion I put in.

"Your call." Flar shrugged. "They just need him out of the way."

I nod curtly and turn to leave.

"Oh, and Stone?" I stop in my tracks as Flar called my attention, not turning around to face him. Whatever he wanted to say can be said to my back as well as my front.

"Dispose of the body."

I raise my hand in acknowledgement and leave. Snake and Witchbane would have been ecstatic with the mission. They both love torture. Snake with her garrote and fetish for leaving behind bugged-out, black tongued corpses and Witchbane with his experimentation and quick-acting but excruciatingly painful poisons.

In contrast, I am known for my dagger and quick clean deaths. But that doesn't mean I am less dangerous. I am still one of the deadly Triumvirate of the ShadowLord's Guild, second in command to Flar. If needed, I can perform torture that would make Snake and Witchbane blanch but as long as I am not ordered to, I do them clean and quick. Not through any misguided sense of right. I just don't care to. I don't care about anything, except maybe for the cold.

I am a heartless, unemotional assassin.

I am Stone.

And nothing touches me.

TBC ^_~ or not…depending on the reaction? ^^;

Author's Notes: Er waves> This is my first original fic submitted to ff.net…I just want to know if its any good! ^-^ Comments dearly sought after…