Scarcely Bemused

THERE WAS a rustle around the corner.

Kane knew she had to escape, but her feet were soldered on its position, and with the tree stroking her bareback, she hid from whoever was chasing her. She never had to be this far. But then she had no choice.

"Kane!" exclaimed an authoritative voice, huskily untrustworthy. "Kane, it's me. This is Marcus Manhattan from La Cervede. I'm a friend of your brother."

Her breathings discontinued for a swift second, her gaze never left what's in front of her. She didn't respond nor she had the idea to take action. For Kane, that was a better option.

She inspected her muddled white dress. There were no torn parts, however, it was thin that the wafts and the chilliness they provided were exposing her entirety. The perturbed girl caressed herself, arms crossed and enclasping her shoulders as she’s keeping sadness inside her.

The atmosphere was miserable that even the clouds, blanketed by its dark mood, weren't that useful to make Kane be a respite. She was deserted with someone she only once met.

"I came here as per Baron's request, and I am here not to hurt you, but to take you to your brother," Marcus gently enunciated with a glint of beguilement. "Tell me, do you understand my language?"

The girl closed her eyes while the wind caressed her murky poise, and sweat caressing her cold face. Her dried lips pursed, a pleat on her forehead.

For the first time, Kane could never listen to anything. There was a perpetual truce, something she sought for the rest of her being. But she learned this perpetual truce could not be sought repeatedly.

It could be interim secrecy.

It could never rid away the chaos subsisting inside her.

"Kane," she heard the man puffed, "please, don't make this hard for the both of us. I came here to fetch you, and Baron, he's concerned about you."

Kane wanted to warn him to stop his lies. Baron was in a hide like what she was doing. She understood his words, yes, even if it's not her language. Hence, that would never amend her decision to not enunciate a phrase at all.

She was cornered. As Kane opened her eyes, let alone discern that the surrounding would never revamp into a solacing niche, hardly breathed, the throbs of her heart were scurrying.

It remained grimy, misty, and terrifying. The trees were everywhere circulated, sprawling lanky and restful on the ground as their silhouettes lurched in spooked and easygoing whizzes.

Rough and hard was the tree that she bent on for her stiff back to rest, while the edges of the tickling hay disturbed her quivering knees. Rest guaranteed Kane could withstand the forest, but she could not withstand the man.

"I hope you can hear me, Kane, at least. If you don't trust me that much, who else would you dare to put that?" Marcus asked, confident, and tamed. "Can you give me one chance?"

She would suspect him at the utmost of her suspicions. The very first inquiry she would tempt to raise a question was that, why was this man the one who had to find her and not her brother Baron? It could be that the man was one of those who put his father's life on the line.

"It's not safe here, Kane," Marcus added, "if you like, you can stay at his house."

Whose house would it be? Kane would interrupt his speech, but she knew that if she pronounced a single word, it's the verge of her. It could have been a lure.

"Kane," said another person, wholly familiar. "This is Mike. You don't need to hide from those goons. Marcus is here to hide you and your brother."

Kane gulped. It was indeed Mike. The help had come to save the day, her dedication, and Will Jacobs' Prince of Hope.

Kane began to squat on the ground, her eyes drowning in her tears, haziness cloaked her visions. Mike was there, and that signified Marcus was someone she could believe that was stating merely but the truth.

She heard a few steps. It went imminent to imminent, cackles tolling in the background, breeze hissing, foliages blurting safety.

There was a halt.

None was to be heeded but tranquil in all corners.

Behind the tree where she was, someone profoundly sighed.

By that, she's aware it was him.

That it was Mike.

"I know it's tough," the teenage boy commenced, "but you know I am here. Mike's always here. I won't leave your side."

Kane retorted with a sob, her pitch trembling in anxiety. Her youth was harsh for it was filled with ironic things she never wished to come to existence. It was not guaranteed the way it should be.

It was Mike that made it easy for her.

"It will soon be over," Mike added soothingly. "Trust me instead."

Indeed, trusting Mike was the clearest decision she would ever bring about. It was never difficult for her to bet her life on this certain guy. If he was that someone who could be the one to offer reassurance, she would never hesitate to seize it.

"The Lair Hides Low Sanctuary will live their normal days for a while until this situation of yours is not solved yet." Mike chuckled, intense and quaint as always, but it had something.

It had unhappiness, a glimpse of it, with evident agony.

"They understand," the Prince of Hope continued. "We all care for you."

Kane made a beam but not as wide as the typical ones. Her lips were shuddering, her eyes tired of the world. The tip of her fingers tickled the bruises on her arm, that even though she could not sight those, their stung was discomforting.

The raw embraces of the hay pinched her skin, almost concealing her from the world's apprehensions, as the thuds in her chest hushed. Stuck at her stance, all right at the very trivial of her expectancy.

"So trust me," Mike mumbled, the affection had never left his accent.

Kane leaned her nape and the back of her head on the hard and rough entirety of the thick trunk behind her, shutting down her gapes to trail the warmth of Mike's covenants.

She could trust him.

But would it be evermore?