[ How long has it been since he's taken Michael under his wing? A couple months, maybe. Time's a little difficult for a man of his age to keep track of.
Most of his days were spent walking by the road. Sometimes he'd play with an unfortunate motorist. When they arrived at a city or town he might stop at the diner and leave a big, fat tip - or he might lean in and whisper something to the waiter that made their face go pale as they dropped their clipboard to the ground. He was unpredictable, acting on whatever mood he happened to be in.
If they slept it'd be in a motel or just outside. No one'd bother them any more than they'd poke a sleeping wolf.
He wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense; he never pulled out a magical book or gave him any spells to memorize. He preferred a more organic approach: let Michael decide what he wants to do and help him accomplish it. How much help he gave was dependent on his whims, too, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't tease the boy every now and then, but it was affectionate. His non-affectionate teasing, the kind he did with unsuspecting regular folks, ended in bloodbaths.
Tonight he's been staring up at the sky, still as a statue, for over an hour now. He's done this before, but never for this long. ]
Something's coming. Something real big.
[ His voice cuts the silence like a knife. There's a soft-spoken, almost reverent tone in his voice. Clairvoyance was never his strongest ability, it came when it wanted and was never perfectly clear, but this time the message was strong enough that he could feel it in his bones. ]
for michael;
Most of his days were spent walking by the road. Sometimes he'd play with an unfortunate motorist. When they arrived at a city or town he might stop at the diner and leave a big, fat tip - or he might lean in and whisper something to the waiter that made their face go pale as they dropped their clipboard to the ground. He was unpredictable, acting on whatever mood he happened to be in.
If they slept it'd be in a motel or just outside. No one'd bother them any more than they'd poke a sleeping wolf.
He wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense; he never pulled out a magical book or gave him any spells to memorize. He preferred a more organic approach: let Michael decide what he wants to do and help him accomplish it. How much help he gave was dependent on his whims, too, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't tease the boy every now and then, but it was affectionate. His non-affectionate teasing, the kind he did with unsuspecting regular folks, ended in bloodbaths.
Tonight he's been staring up at the sky, still as a statue, for over an hour now. He's done this before, but never for this long. ]
Something's coming. Something real big.
[ His voice cuts the silence like a knife. There's a soft-spoken, almost reverent tone in his voice. Clairvoyance was never his strongest ability, it came when it wanted and was never perfectly clear, but this time the message was strong enough that he could feel it in his bones. ]