"To say the right thing at the right time, keep still most of the time" - John W. Roper

"You know, mother and father worry about you."

"Hm."

That was all Abel could mutter at the mention of his own flesh and blood. Family; what did that word even mean? It was a word taught to them by the gods, one that emasculated true love and trust. What such things even meant also eluded Abel. It was quite a few weeks ago. The memory still left Abel with a rotten taste in his mouth. One that reminded him of soured rabbit breast, or the rotting ribs of a deer. An argument. What he and his father were even yelling about was blurred in-between the lines of cusses and curses to his father. Who taught him such language, he couldn't remember. The words seemingly lurched within his stomach and sprung up from his throat. Words that stung the heart and wrought the eyes with tears, that's all his spite yearned for in the heat of the moment.

His chest tightened ever-so-slightly has the image of his mother weeping as he took up his wolf-furred jacket and cotton and linen cloak and stormed out of the camp. He had to bite back tears that would have stained his face, and his stubborn pride.

"How exactly do they worry about me?" Abel asked. His eyes glinted with a tinge of hurt, but it was eclipsed in a scowl of bitter pride.

"What do you mean?"

"Just how exactly do they tell you they worry about me? Do they outright tell you that they care? Does dad go quiet and begin to drone off? Does mom begin to choke and stumble on his words? Are dad's fingertips laced with callouses as he continues to burrow in the soil? How many new cloaks have mom knitted; are her fingertips coated in cuts and splinters from the bark?" Abel's voice grew louder and louder as he inundated his brother with questions. His voice seemed as if it was spouting acid straight from his heart as each passing word bore anguish hidden within his spit and spite.

Cain stopped in his tracks, allowing his brother to garner more distance between them. It was times like these that he truly did feel his brother slipping farther and farther away from him. And there was nothing he could do about it. "Abel is smarter than that," Cain always told himself. Even so, time had seemingly not perturbed his brother's estranged, deep-seated hatred.

"I... I just know that they do, Abel," Cain mustered from his throat. Sometimes people deserve something better than the truth. Sometimes the truth wasn't good enough. But Cain knew better than to not admit to Abel that he had lied.

"So they just let you run after me with no strings attached, huh..."

A sickly silence washed over the brothers as the younger continued his trek down the rocky pathway. Cain simply stared tragically at his brother, as the distance grew further, and he continued to slip into the distant mist of the forest below. Hatred, it was so entrenched in his brother's heart. Those questions he had spat earlier, there was no true meaning behind them. They were simply words that slipped from Abel's tongue, and troubled mind, and anguished heart. Abel did not hate this kin, but rather, his own flesh and humanity. It was just this hatred every-so-often would seep out of his heart to scowl at others'. Cain did not know what to say to Abel. He could not grasp how his brother had such wild and feral bitterness. The mere thought of having such poised emotions both bewildered him, and left his heart tinged with pity and regret for the one he loved more than anything.

"Do you remember the first time you tried climbing a tree?"

Abel stopped in his tracks and stared off into the distant path below him. "Yeah, I remember..."

A small smile curled upon Abel's lips as his mind conjured up that distant yet precious memory. An oak tree. Abel remembered how his stubborn determination was only mitigated by his stubby, infantile limbs. It was a cool late summer afternoon. His father was out working in the fields. It was a good harvest that year. Rows of golden grains filled the fields that summer. He remembered how Cain stared in awe at the fields that stood proudly over the horizon of their quaint home. But Abel wasn't concerned with the vista over the horizon, but the view ahead of him. Or rather, the wooden spectacle that glaringly towered over him. His mom was in the den, her soft, slender fingers weaving and tussling with cotton threads and the eye of a sharpened bark needle. Cain was too busy having his senses flooded with the bliss of nature (Abel found himself admiring how his brother could so sentimental over the years), to notice his younger brother's fingernails clasping onto the rough bark of the oak tree. The thrill of the wind rushing over his messy hair as he continued his climb filled his spirit. The branches seemed so close yet so far as he continued his climb, yet it made his heart flutter with exhilarating all the same. Suddenly, a loud snap rang out in Abel's ears as the branches now grew farther and farther, seemingly rejecting his naive hands. His vision blurred in estranged color pallets as his fragile and frail body spun about in the summer's winds. The azure blue sky meshed violently with the deep emerald grass. Flashes of a towering brown tree stock continued to glare at him as he descended further down in a wild spin. Suddenly, darkness enveloped his eyes and the world went still. His limbs tingled and quivered, but it all felt so still around his frail figure. He felt his muscles stiffen against what he presumed was dirt. Then came the strange yet all too familiar feeling of tears welling up in his eyes. He stifled them briefly but it only served to bolster his ever sudden outburst of cries and wails that resonated from his parched and tender and infantile lips.

"What about that day?" asked Abel as his mind filled the memory that spurt such childish emotions; of sweetening ambition and bitter defeat. "Well, do you remember how I froze?" Cain said, almost bringing the volume of his voice to a whisper. "To be honest, no I don't." The last fragments of that memory were blurred by time and the tears that stained his eyes. "Do you remember how hard I was crying then?" Abel retorted back. Cain closed his eyes and draped his left arm over his right, loosely crossing them. He lightly tapped his finger against the still frost-bitten sleeves of his thick fur coating. "Yes, I do remember... But don't you remember who it was who ran to you."

Abel's body remained indifferent, yet his emotions began to stir. His eyes glimmered and tinged in a reflection of guilt and sorrow as he continued to stare off into the distance. He couldn't bear showing such vulnerability to anyone, not even to his brother. He remembered how it was first a soft and gentle embrace that wrapped around his frail body and tenderly shared its comforting warmth. Then another followed, only this one bolstered an aura of fierce protection, fully poised against anything else that dared to harm Abel.

One that soothed, one that shielded.

"Hm," Abel hummed lowly and thoughtfully. With his head still so fixated onto the path ahead, and his eyes still glimmered with sadness, and his mind still distant and inhabiting the fragile and naive body of a child, he suddenly began to feel his chest ache. It felt as though his heart was being writhed and choked by a firm grasp. Sweat began to drip from his pours and his breathing began jagged and wrenched with gasps. He could feel each one of his blood cells all ignite in a singular burst of ear-piercing agony before frost then etched itself along his nerve endings. He wanted to scream out but his throat was clogged with what felt like thick ink.

Then it appeared.

A tall, slender figure began to stumble towards Abel. Fear was now what gripped Abel's throat and wrenched his stomach. It had long, noir, silk-like hair that draped and dragged along the path as it continued to walk towards Abel. With each step, it bobbed its head to the sway of weight, constantly flashing its demonic grin at Abel. Its darkened teeth protruded out, revealing jagged and feral and carnivorous fangs that twisted into that sickening, sadistic smile. Puffs of black steam would pool out between the cracks and gums of its mouth, basking it in darkness. Its face was obscured in this shroud of blackness, but its eyes were only further illuminated by it as they pierced the veil of the dark void it so callously masked itself in. Four eyes locked onto Abel. It was as if someone had split each of its eyes in half, then carved an extra space into its eye bags. None had pupils, only bright and yet hollow and void blood-stained slits that all focused all their scrutiny onto Abel. Closer and closer it approached Abel. Its hollow body scrapping menacingly against the joints as it continued its trek. All Abel could do was stare helplessly at this figure, his body still writhing in agony. Giving up his spirit, he closed his eyes and felt his body tip over as he began to descend downwards, backward. Then a voice, jagged and scrapped, playful yet corrupt, hush but deafening spoke behind his ear. "Wakey, wakey."

When he awoke, he was greeted with a gasp and a soft but strangling embrace.