He wanted the thing they had been tormenting him with. Now that he was free, he would have it even if he had to kill an army to get it.
But there was no army, he realize a moment later. All there was was a skillet on an open flame, a steak of massive proportions sizzling away inside it. Heedless of anything but his goal, he ripped the pan from the fire, with one hand and grabbed the steak with the other. He was eating it a moment later, ripping into it with huge gnawing bites, barely giving himself a moment to taste it before he was swallowing it down. It had to be the most delicious thing he had ever eaten in all of his life. He realized it was probably just perception, but just the same, it tasted like ambrosia.
Once the steak was almost halfway gone, he began to look furtively around himself, prepared every minute to fight off whatever army lay in wait. He was aware the steak was probably just bait to trap him again, but he didn’t care. He would deal with trouble when it cameand not a moment before. He’d never been the worrying sort. He’d make a goal and see it through to its end. He saw no sense in worrying about outcomes or anything else for that matter. Life was straightforward. Good or bad. War or peace. Free or slave. Fight or die. Simple. As simple as he was. Flesh or stone. Simple.
It only took him a moment to notice the wee fey lass curled up in an intimidated ball on a counter across the way from him. He looked over his shoulder to see what she was so afraid of, but he saw only the stove and the refrigerator. Items in a kitchen. He was in a kitchen.
That gave him pause. He swept his eyes over the vast room, with its open area on one side that led out into a sprawling living area with tremendous floor-to-ceiling windows all along the central wall of it. And that led him to fixate on the wild white and gray storm swirling on the other side of it. He pulled in a moment, checking his internal clock. Daylight. It ought to be daylight. But it wasn’t. The storm. It was blotting out the sun. It relieved him to know that. It meant he could move about freely without worrying about the touch of the sun turning him.
His attention went back to the little fey thing. It occurred to him then that she must be afraid of
him
. It almost made him laugh. He was a protector of all things good and innocent, not a beast to be feared. Why would she …?
Then he stopped and looked at himself. Really looked at himself. He was towering over her in her kitchen—he had to assume it was hers—naked and fierce and eating her food—he had to assume it was hers—like an animal. There were no enemies. There was no prison.
Not then. There
had
been, but he had broken free of that prison. Again, he checked his internal clock. Three days. He’d been three days and nights without histouchstone. Who knew how much longer he had before the unthinkable would happen?
He slowly put the pan down on the nearest surface and flexed his burned hand a bit, feeling it for the first time, only just then realizing he’d burned himself in his haste to obtain her food. He straightened his stance and, though he tried, he couldn’t make himself give up the steak he was gnawing on. It was almost gone in any event. It wasn’t likely she’d want it back. He held out a placating hand.
“You’ve no reason tae be afraid,” he said with a swallow of the divine beef. If there was one thing that could be said of his kind, it was that they loved their food. And with good cause. They burned caloric energy three times as fast as humans did and therefore had to replenish just as quickly. Next to their freedom, food was the thing most Gargoyles coveted at any given moment. Freedom and food. In that order.
“Y-you killed my refrigerator. I-I’d say that gives me reason.”
Damn
, he thought as he looked at the damaged piece of equipment. He swallowed the last of his steak and reached to maneuver the wobbly door. It shut, but not with any certainty that
But there was no army, he realize a moment later. All there was was a skillet on an open flame, a steak of massive proportions sizzling away inside it. Heedless of anything but his goal, he ripped the pan from the fire, with one hand and grabbed the steak with the other. He was eating it a moment later, ripping into it with huge gnawing bites, barely giving himself a moment to taste it before he was swallowing it down. It had to be the most delicious thing he had ever eaten in all of his life. He realized it was probably just perception, but just the same, it tasted like ambrosia.
Once the steak was almost halfway gone, he began to look furtively around himself, prepared every minute to fight off whatever army lay in wait. He was aware the steak was probably just bait to trap him again, but he didn’t care. He would deal with trouble when it cameand not a moment before. He’d never been the worrying sort. He’d make a goal and see it through to its end. He saw no sense in worrying about outcomes or anything else for that matter. Life was straightforward. Good or bad. War or peace. Free or slave. Fight or die. Simple. As simple as he was. Flesh or stone. Simple.
It only took him a moment to notice the wee fey lass curled up in an intimidated ball on a counter across the way from him. He looked over his shoulder to see what she was so afraid of, but he saw only the stove and the refrigerator. Items in a kitchen. He was in a kitchen.
That gave him pause. He swept his eyes over the vast room, with its open area on one side that led out into a sprawling living area with tremendous floor-to-ceiling windows all along the central wall of it. And that led him to fixate on the wild white and gray storm swirling on the other side of it. He pulled in a moment, checking his internal clock. Daylight. It ought to be daylight. But it wasn’t. The storm. It was blotting out the sun. It relieved him to know that. It meant he could move about freely without worrying about the touch of the sun turning him.
His attention went back to the little fey thing. It occurred to him then that she must be afraid of
him
. It almost made him laugh. He was a protector of all things good and innocent, not a beast to be feared. Why would she …?
Then he stopped and looked at himself. Really looked at himself. He was towering over her in her kitchen—he had to assume it was hers—naked and fierce and eating her food—he had to assume it was hers—like an animal. There were no enemies. There was no prison.
Not then. There
had
been, but he had broken free of that prison. Again, he checked his internal clock. Three days. He’d been three days and nights without histouchstone. Who knew how much longer he had before the unthinkable would happen?
He slowly put the pan down on the nearest surface and flexed his burned hand a bit, feeling it for the first time, only just then realizing he’d burned himself in his haste to obtain her food. He straightened his stance and, though he tried, he couldn’t make himself give up the steak he was gnawing on. It was almost gone in any event. It wasn’t likely she’d want it back. He held out a placating hand.
“You’ve no reason tae be afraid,” he said with a swallow of the divine beef. If there was one thing that could be said of his kind, it was that they loved their food. And with good cause. They burned caloric energy three times as fast as humans did and therefore had to replenish just as quickly. Next to their freedom, food was the thing most Gargoyles coveted at any given moment. Freedom and food. In that order.
“Y-you killed my refrigerator. I-I’d say that gives me reason.”
Damn
, he thought as he looked at the damaged piece of equipment. He swallowed the last of his steak and reached to maneuver the wobbly door. It shut, but not with any certainty that
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