The ninth circle of hell - prologue - engels :]

Mijn proloog van een langer verhaal, tevens mijn ingeleverde opdracht voor mijn prose class. Graag opbouwende kritiek als je het helemaal gelezen hebt. Vragen zijn ook welkom, en als je het niet op kon brengen mijn 2100 woorden te lezen en daar een reden voor hebt ook graag melden! Bedankt!!



Prologue
Trees appeared to bend away as she made her way through their forest, while shadows and coldness seemed to spin themselves around her. They did not approve of her presence. An almost touchable silence kept her in its grip, as if the air around her was filled with death.
And it was.
The sound of her footsteps almost became lost in the noise of the howling wind as Sawena dragged herself along. Unaware of the coming storm she continued, to keep herself from drowning in the endless seas of time that surrounded her.
Screeching birds; a shudder broke through the tense silence of the forest. With a jerk Sawena stopped. Sticking up her nose in the air she took a deep breath to seek out the trail. Blood; of that she was sure. She would recognize that coppery smell even if she was bound deep in the Ninth Circle of Hell.
A deadly cold started to take possession of her with every heart beat, and every step made her bend double with pain. With all her might she tried to suppress the animal-like instinct that arose in her. Sweat ran down her spine; it has been too long since my last encounter with Lord Death. Her hair grew longer, nails changed into claws and her canines became lethal weapons; she was fighting for control over her own body. Frustrated about the loss of control over her instincts Sawena bit her lip until she tasted blood.
Silence.
She got up, half transformed and panting. The world, that unfurled itself before her darkened eyes, was one of vague shapes and shadows. Her ears – bigger and pointier now – had yet to adjust to the earthly sounds. All she could hear was the silence of death.
A sneering smile formed on her face at the sight of the souls that had gathered around her, hoping to be brought back to the domain of the living, by her, a Death God. Not likely.
Fear; the smell blended in with the blood. Confused she breathed in once more, in the short time of her transformation the smell of blood had come closer. Much closer.
While Sawena turned around the sounds of her earthly surrounding returned as a crescendo in the middle of an orchestra. Two human children passed her by; surprise flowed through her when the smallest looked her straight in the eyes before he continued to run away from whatever it was that was chasing them. Death; if my presence is of any indication.
Disorientated by the sudden return of sound, the shot of the crossbow came as a surprise. A scream; the shot had hit its target. She turned to face the man with the crossbow. The marksman was a little short, even for a human. His clothes were black with a blood coloured emblem shining on the side of his hood. Unthinkingly Sawena slid her tongue over her fangs. It seemed she had stumbled into a banquet, and Death would be her familiar host.

Bollocks, bollock-the-bollocks-bollocks, was the only thing going on in Mouse’s head. No sentences, no other words. His whole body was shaking. What should I do? What should I do-ho?!
He looked at his hands, full of blood; sticky. To the boy, who was lying next to him; shaking. Back, his eyes went to the blood of the boy; red, just like mine. Not blue like people say it is.
Quickly he glanced at the ghosts around them. There were more than usual. ‘Cause they really do like blood. He could feel their silence. Cold. Myrre would probably call them distantly, he thought. They never helpded. No.
The boy. He had been really scared. When Mouse saw him for the first time, he had felt as if he was really big. He had not been afraid of the man in black, because the ghosts were a lot more scarier. When Mouse saw his first ghost he had been scared too. Not as scared as the boy now. No.
Now he was more like Myrre then though. When he saw his first ghost she had grabbed his hand. And they ran. Far, far away. So that’s what he had done now; grabbed the boys hand and ran. But the man had followed them.
The wind flew through the leaves of the tree. It made a funny sound. As if they are talking. Myrre talks with trees.
Oh bollocks, the man came closer. Blood-boy-man-ghosts. The boy made a funny noise that almost made Mouse jump. He put his hand over the mouth of the boy. No sound! The man shouldn’t find us. The boy tried to grab Mouse’s arm, but he wasn’t strong enough. With a thud his arm fell back on the ground between all the coloured leaves. The lips of the boy moved underneath Mouse’s hand. Quickly he pulled away. It tickles.
‘…n –ay…,’ was the only thing Mouse heard.
He wondered if the boy couldn’t speak right. The son of the butcher on the corner couldn’t either. Myrre said that he shouldn’t make jokes about that. ‘The boy can’t help it,’ she said. But often it was quite funny.
But this boy could talk normal. ‘Run away,’ he said and Mouse saw he was crying. He didn’t understand the boy. Why do he want to run away again? Don’t he understand that he can’t run? The man in the black had shot the boy in the side. A lot of blood was flowing out and Mouse couldn’t carry him. The boy is a lot too big. ‘Run away, run away.’ The boy talked faster and faster, so Mouse found it difficult to understand him. He didn’t like fast things. Except for running really fast; sometimes. ‘Go. You don’t want to die too,’ whispered the boy.
Dead? Mouse stared at the ghosts around him. No. That don’t look fun at all. He got up; shaking because of the fast beating of his heart. I’m not scared. Blood made the leaves stick to his knees.
When he stood there and looked down on the boy it was as if he saw everything for the first time. The blood; a lot of blood. He stumbled backwards. Away. Was suddenly the only thing in his mind.
‘No!’ the boy changed his mind. Mouse could hear him cry, but his heart was beating loud enough for him to pretend he didn’t. As if the boy wasn’t begging. As if nothing had happened…
Away!
The sobs of the boy chased him as an echo of his footsteps. But when Mouse shook his head fast enough he didn’t hear it. Away. Up, down. Ducking, stumbling, trees, bushes, branches, leaves. He could still smell the death of the ghosts. Faster and faster his feet moved. Away from the blood. Away from the boy and more important: away from the man in black. Running away was the best thing he could do. Myrre will understand, right?

Blood, pain and death; filled with delight the Hunter breathed in the atmosphere around him. His whole body was vibrating from the excitement he felt. The scent of the Hunt lingered in the air and he felt how his body was pleasantly embraced by the feelings of fear of others. This was what he was living for, this was the only reason he was still alive.
With the carefulness of a young mother he put his crossbow back on his back and pulled out his dagger from the scabbard that was attached to his thigh. The silver weapon lit up brightly in the semidarkness of the coming storm. He didn’t have to test whether it was in good shape, he knew the gentle touch of the weapon well enough. Tenderly the Hunter stroked his scarred forearm.
Confidently he sneaked closer to the boy and observed him from the shadows. The boy’s soft sobs reverberated through the veins of the Hunter. Yes, I’ll be satisfied tonight.
While he killed the rest of the damned, aristocratic family of the boy he had felt the well-known desire for pain. However, his duty was to kill the family of the boy unnoticed. So the parents and siblings of this boy had found their peace while sleeping. Unfortunately.
His heart had skipped a beat when the boy had looked him straight in the eyes. Apparently the Gods had heard his despair and woke up the boy so he could feed his addiction of pain. His happiness had even increased when from the darkness a small, filthy, rat-like child appeared who had grabbed his prey by his hands and started running, trying to flee away from him. The blood in his veins had been singing of joy. A hunt, a hunt!
Smiling he looked down on the boy and his joy increased when uncontrollable fear overpowered the boy and made him beg for his life. With one hand the Hunter stretched the boy’s skin taut, using the other hand to tickle his prey with his dagger.
Cries resonated through the first raindrops of the storm.

Unaffected in any way, she stared at the torture in front of her eyes; deaf to the screams that resounded in her ears. Hunter, prey. Hunter kills, prey dies; that’s what it will be like. She had seen it countless times in numerous ways. Despite the fact that she wasn’t moved, the beast inside her revelled in the sight; the desire for blood was almost unbearable.
Unfamiliar noises drew Sawena’s attention as well as the Hunter’s. Again the sounds were audible, and the Hunter’s annoyance showed in a pulsing vein at the side of his head.
‘Show yourself!’ irritation was present in the words of the murderer, now something interrupted his rhythm. Knowing his prey was close to being dead, he got up. Convinced that someone was hiding behind the bushes to his far left he moved to investigate. As Sawena expected, no sooner had the hunter reached the bushes, the sound of struggle drew his attention back to the wounded boy.
Without the need for caution the man in black sped toward the two boys. The smaller ones best efforts to act as a crutch for the wounded boy were easily stopped by the hunters boot.
‘This, is mine,’ he growled. Undeterred the boy tried to reach the other, each time being batted away with ease by the assassin. Soon the hunter’s mood changed, before it had been as if he enjoyed playing with the weaker human, but now his face displayed irritation.
The stubborn boy got to his knees, his nose bloody. Spurred on by silence from the other child he ran toward the hunter.
The silence that followed resounded between the trees. The small boy had captivated Sawena. He looked her straight in the eyes, until his muscles abandoned him; no fear, just surprise and pain; the hunter’s blade piercing his side.
Sudden anger overtook her body. She encouraged the beast that had been gnawing at her conscious to come outside and devour the world. Violently she forced herself through the barrier of her dimension of shades, to that of the world. The hunter turned around by the trembling of the ground; mortal fear showing on his face by the view of her fully transformed self.
It didn’t take her long to suck the last bit of life out of his body.
Filled with disgust she threw away his drained body. Not satisfied at all, but content, she kneeled down next to the boy; this shouldn’t have happened. However, she couldn’t do anything for the boy. The sloppy wound that had caused his death destroyed too much of his body. Even if she would bring back his soul, he wouldn’t survive.
But perhaps she could give his death some meaning.

With a bang he was thrown against the earth. His eyes flew open and desperately he tried to encourage his lungs to work; they seemed to only breathe pain.
‘It is important to forget what it is like to be dead, but to remember what it is like to die.’ Through his tears he saw the vague figure of the most terrifying creature he had ever seen. The Death God seemed to smile; he shivered. ‘I don’t know how long you’ll survive, but try to honour the death of the boy who saved you by living as long as possible.’ He followed her finger that pointed to a small silhouette. A sinister feeling took over his body as he crawled towards the dead body.
He felt sick when he stared at the obviously dead boy.
‘That’s me,’ whispered Mouse.