There was no hesitation in the way Delilah entered the room, all smiles and dimples. Eyes widening as he watched her stride in with purpose, Lark froze.

Her tone was cross. “Ah ah ah! Haven’t even decorated yet. Even after we got some stuff from your house.” She pointed sadly to a few boxes in the bedroom, taped shut for travel.

Despite trying to keep civility in his voice Lark still raised it in challenge. “What if I didn't want my stuff brought here?”

Delilah took the knife from his belt, going over to a box and slicing it open. He brought out some of Lark’s books, furniture and packed clothes, tossing them onto the bed. “Too bad, this is your home now and you need a sound mind as well as body! Having some of your own stuff around helps.”

Delilah looked behind him as if noticing something, and gave an audible sniff. “What do I smell? Did you eat something?”

He zoned in on the remnants of Lark’s food, at the paper packaging and set table, and his eyes sparkled. “Ooohh, you did! Good! What’d you have?”

Raising an eyebrow, Lark went to go clean it up, a bit embarrassed about it. Usually he picks up right after eating but today was… a lot. He was distracted. “Just… a sandwich. The eggplant and pepper one from the cafeteria. It was good.”

“Oooh, yum.” Delilah smiled at him, the gesture reaching so far up his face Lark thought it would fly away. “As someone who can’t touch a stove for fear of burning the entire thing, the fact we can order food to our room is more a blessing than our God’s.”

Brow creasing, Lark stood there confused why it was so exciting. You could order food wherever you lived, depending on if the establishment delivered.

Attention soon focused entirely on taking Lark’s belongings from the boxes, Delilah chatted one-sidedly while she worked. Not meaning to be rude but not having much to say, Lark listened with as much focus as he could while his guest talked, eventually assisting with the unpacking.

“So how much do you know about what we’re fighting, really. So close to the Cathedral city means nothing really gets this far.”

Tone turning more serious with a playful bite, Delilah sat at the end of Lark’s bed with legs folded and chin resting in her hand as Lark put clothes into his new armoire. Surprised, Lark brought a chair over, sitting on it backwards and he looked at Delilah.

“Can’t say I do. I didn’t even know you guys fought anything scarier than a rabid wolf.” He admitted. Rabid wolves were still scary, having run into a few in the mountains. Big. Scary.

Snapping her fingers and grinning, Delilah put her hands on her head to mimic wolf ears. It was cute. “Oh, we fight those. Protectors of the people and all that.” She flicked her hands back and forth. “Sometimes packs are too much for one shepard to deal with.”

“Why are you bringing this up anyway?” Lark asked.

“Well, you need to know what you’ll be fighting and the reason, right?” Delilah explained.

Lark went quiet, knowing that was true even if he didn’t plan on drawing blood. “I’m… not keen on killing..”

Shrugging his shoulders and making a whining sound, Delilah fell back on the bed. “A goody two shoes! Been there, done that. You new guys are always like this.”

“Something wrong with that?” Sneered Lark, not meaning to sound so volatile.

“Of course not! People like you don’t last too long, that’s all.” Sitting up, Delilah narrowed his eyes. The gold in them glimmered unnaturally.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat Lark tried to look as unbothered as possible, though how much of that he could hide was mostly likely minimal.

“So what do you suggest I do if I don’t want to kill… creatures.”

“Become really really good at beating stuff up. You can let someone else do the dirty work. Ain’t cowardice if you ask me.” The lackadaisical mood of it made the hair on the back of Lark’s neck crawl. “I don’t mean to be nasty, never be nasty! Just get really good at what you can do!” She then laughed as if hearing a joke again.

“And I heard you want a shepherd's crook as your weapon of choice? So odd! Folks usually go for something flashy when they have master smiths at their beck and call.”

Standing up suddenly, Lark tossed aside his bravado and decided to finally start getting ahead of the game. “You’re the best, right? Can you train me?”

If people died early he wouldn’t. If people struggled to be kind he wouldn’t.

“Aha?” Taken aback, Delilah quirked an eyebrow at Lark. She sputtered out another laugh with a hand to her stomach. “I’ve heard that before! But not really from someone who just moved in!”

Her expression changed to something a bit sadder. “I’m the best but I’m not invincible.”

“Tell me more about what you fight, then.” -Because I really really don’t want to die… was what he wouldn’t say out loud.

Gripping the cloth of his beautiful scarf, Lark could tell fear and despair were ready to breach the surface.  Even if the emotions welled up, the bubbles popped as soon as they hit the air.

“They’re exactly like you an’ me. Except something in them got dark and drippy and nasty.” Started Delilah, eyes taking on an odd glint. “Humans and demons that took advantage of dark magic to turn into something else.”

He reached into his pocket, taking out the same vial and pen Orimir had. He shook the container and the liquid sloshed lazily, brighter silver bits swirling around. It had the same look as mercury, something you couldn’t touch, but this was a substance of creation and destruction. It all depended on how well you could use it.

“You know about glyphs right? Not everyone can use this ink, some better than others, but if you use them in any way or with any kind of intent that begets cruelty or with malice it backfires.”

Delilah darted her fingers forwards at Lark to spook him. “Then… they come for you!” Then frowned when he didn’t even flinch.

“Basically, we fight corrupted people who wanted to do terrible things to begin with. The creatures that we make the glyph glitter from are benevolent beings so their will is in the stuff.” He pocketed the Glyph ink, patting his coat. “Their favorite thing is feeding on other people’s souls to fix their own. We call ‘em Bleeds, because they just ooze black stuff everywhere.”

Finally, Delilah let out a long sigh as she shrugged her shoulders, relaxing. Though Lark’s apprehension from the conversation didn’t fade, he leaned back and mulled it all over. 

So he would have to risk his life to fight these kinds of monsters… He had never seen them before let alone heard any of these details. The town of Birdscall was small and quiet and people usually kept to themselves, nothing ever happened there. The most exciting thing in any recent memory was when his father turned up dead.

“To tell you the truth, I was a bit mindless about fighting for a while. My Ma was a Saint so I grew up in the Cathedral and saw her bloody more times than I could count.” Delilah played with her earring, spinning it between a thumb and forefinger with a practiced twirl. “I stayed at the demon royal castle for a little bit once. I got into a pretty bad scuffle and ended up sick, so they took care of me.”

Leaning up on her elbows, Delilah’s voice grew more fond as she looked out the window. “Ammut is the reigning king, I’m sure you know about them at least. They ascended early due to… their father’s death.” There was a pregnant pause.

She sat up and pointed a finger accusingly at Lark, brow furrowed seriously. “Don’t treat him casually despite what he says! If you ever meet him, make sure you’re nice! Their guards are annoyingly loyal.”

Lark let a laugh come out, genuine but light; it made his spirits lift. “Ha! Then I’ll get along with them if we ever meet.”

“Miss your mom?”

The question shifted the mood of the whole room, taking lark completely by surprise. It didn’t sound like he was teasing, especially since Delilah had witnessed Winter’s tears and even cleaned his mother’s face of them.

“...”

Sitting back in the chair with a heavy heart, Lark could only nod.

“Lark. The actual reason I’m here is to make sure you’re okay, and if talking about stuff will make you feel okay then talk away.” He waved an inviting hand toward Lark, beckoning him to talk. “It’s a really scary thing, what happened to you. And now you’ve been forced to live away from home.”

The invitation was astronomical and Lark felt the bubbles explode more than pop. Tears welled in his eyes even if all he felt was a slow, crushing despair.

“Wh… Why’d they force me to stay here? Why do I have to fight?”

The words tumbled out. Tumbled and spun and fell.

“I’m not a saint. I’m not anything or anyone important. But now I am? Now I’m expected to do all this… stuff?”

Putting his face into his hands, Lark felt his body shake. He wanted so badly for his mother or Sasha to hold him, anyone to hold him. But no one did.

“I didn’t want to leave home, my family, my sheep… The mountains are where my father died and I was ready for them to eventually take me, too.”

Grimacing, Delilah hid her face. “Wait, wait, wait! Do you need to like… talk-talk or just vent??”

“I’m sorry… I swear it’s just venting.” Lark sniffled.

Delilah handed him a tissue and when she ran out of tissues and Lark was still crying, a purple handkerchief was suddenly placed into his hand.

His voice stuttered and he felt shy and squeezed the cloth between his fingers. It was warm. “Ah… I’m really sorry… I’ll return this once I-”

“No. No need.” The person sitting across from him only smiled, her expression just as warm and kind as the handkerchief.

It was a sweet gesture and Lark took it as a final welcome into his new home. Delilah had seemed fake and stiff when they met, yet she was really anything but. She had listened to his miseries and his terrible crying and was now giving him one of her handkerchiefs.

As he wiped his nose, Lark saw Delilah finally get off the bed and walk towards the door. He didn’t stop him, knowing he definitely had somewhere else to be.

“Tell you what, Lark.”

He stopped and looked back at the sniffling mess on the chair that was Lark.

“Meet me in the smithy tomorrow and we’ll get you fitted, okay? I’ll take care of getting you trained.”

Blowing his nose again, Lark looked at the clock; it was getting late.

“Wh-what time? Early?”

“Pfft. I’m not insane, no. Like 10AM.”

“Not insane…?”

“I’m not a workaholic. Gotta make sure I don’t work too much, get sleep, eat well, and socialize. I’ll teach you!”

It made Lark laugh again. “Wow, you wouldn’t last one day in my shoes.”

Delilah nudged Lark with a shoulder, a playful scowl on his face.”Hey, shut up, when does a shepherd usually wake up? Rise and rest with the sun?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh, that sounds agonizing! Whew. Get some rest, Lark.” He gave Lark a wave as he went to leave the room. “See you!” Then closed the door softly behind him. 

After that it was quiet.

It was an almost laborious quiet, especially after Delilah’s brighter personality making his  situation seem less bleak and the room less lonesome. Even then… Lark preferred the chatter he brought compared to his own thoughts. Having slept for days he should have been wide awake, but Lark felt the tug of sleep beckoning him back to the bed.

Sheets had been changed to some of his personal ones so sliding under the covers felt more comfortable. The familiar smell of them, just washed, cocooned him in an embrace, making his eyelids flutter closed within minutes.

His dreams were dark and cold.