He had been sleeping fitfully to begin with and now he found it impossible to ignore the noise outside in the hallway. Now someone was trampling up the stairs even...
How was a man supposed to sleep like that?
Resolved to find out what was going on, he got up, slipped on a dressing gown and left his room.
A door across the hall was open and someone was talking in there.
Not just talking his extra-sense reminded him.
Indeed not. He heard a suppressed moan coming from that direction.
He moved over to that door, just as a man came in sight at the stairs, struggling up the steps with a death-grip on the railing and a cane. His mouth twitched at the sight, and he entered room 110.
A man was kneeling besides the bed, on which there lay a being with large, red wings.
Tiredness and anger were quickly forgotten. This must be one of the beings he had come here to find! But it was bleeding, hardly stirring anymore. If the man kneeling besides it was killing it, he would--
"What are you doing there?" he asked, his voice calm, controlled but with an icy edge to it. "Are you butchering him? Whatever he is?"
He was quite well aware of the impression he had to make, standing there in the open door, shoulder-length white hair tangled from his unrestful sleep, a set of angry scars visible over his stomach because he had not bothered to tie the dressing gown.
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How was a man supposed to sleep like that?
Resolved to find out what was going on, he got up, slipped on a dressing gown and left his room.
A door across the hall was open and someone was talking in there.
Not just talking his extra-sense reminded him.
Indeed not. He heard a suppressed moan coming from that direction.
He moved over to that door, just as a man came in sight at the stairs, struggling up the steps with a death-grip on the railing and a cane. His mouth twitched at the sight, and he entered room 110.
A man was kneeling besides the bed, on which there lay a being with large, red wings.
Tiredness and anger were quickly forgotten. This must be one of the beings he had come here to find! But it was bleeding, hardly stirring anymore. If the man kneeling besides it was killing it, he would--
"What are you doing there?" he asked, his voice calm, controlled but with an icy edge to it. "Are you butchering him? Whatever he is?"
He was quite well aware of the impression he had to make, standing there in the open door, shoulder-length white hair tangled from his unrestful sleep, a set of angry scars visible over his stomach because he had not bothered to tie the dressing gown.