The tiny creature wrapped in the leaves looked back at Branu. It continued to make short squealing noises, reverberant like echoes bouncing off the rock walls. It twitched its smooth, oval head, the shape and texture of a pebble carved by flowing river waters. Feeble grey storm light glinted on the droplets of rain water dripping off its brown surface.

Set within the pebble-like head were two large eyes, deep and black. They looked stunned, wide and amazed. The rest of the thing’s body was vaguely humanoid, almost skeletal, made of the same brown material.

The creature’s squealing changed to a low whimpering. It waved its frail arms clumsily, ineffectively, as if to ward him off. Its fingers were equally curious, long and drawn-out, each ending in a delicate transparent tendril, like the tender root of a sprouted plant.

Branu was reminded of little Vinthan waiting for him back home, brown and chubby. Seeing the fear clouding the dark, black eyes he was about to crush, Branu lowered the rock.

He crouched lower, bringing his face a little closer to leaves. Its pleading calls grew shriller and louder, and it weakly waved its stubby legs about trying to move away, shivering in the cold rain. It clearly couldn’t. Branu felt another pang of sympathy for the helpless thing.

“You won’t eat my soul, will you little one?” he said, with a hesitant laugh.

He moved closer- with some trepidation - gently picked it up in his palms. It felt cold, light, and surprisingly fragile, like an egg-shell. He could have crushed with a gently closed fist. It mewled and wriggled in sudden panic at being touched. Surprised at the sudden movement, Branu did what came instinctively and turned on the Heat in his palms.

Immediately, the thrashing stopped, and the eyes widened in innocent surprise. It’s cries quietened, and the thrashing paused, replaced by a gurgle of wonder. It rested uncertainly in his palms falling silent. Branu sighed in relief and willed his heart to stop trying to break out of his chest. He waddled back on his haunches into the shelter of the temple roof, carrying it in his palms, trying to soothe it with tutting and cooing as he had practiced on his newborn.

He found the wrap cloth in which he had brought his meal, set it down on it, and used some heat to dry out the cloth as well as the creature’s strange, smooth skin. He had no idea what to do now, but it clearly hadn’t eaten his soul, so maybe trusting his instinct had been the right thing to do. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be alert. If this was some new kind of animal, he had no idea what it’s parent might do when it found its child. He wrapped it up in the dry cloth and continued pulsing heat into it. Slowly, its shivering stopped and it’s movements became firmer, less panicked and fluid.

Seemingly comforted and recovered, it looked back at its saviour with curious eyes and some soft squeaks as it kicked about inside the cloth .

That’s when Branu noticed it had no recognizable features on its head apart from the eyes. No ears, mouth or orifices of any sort. Strange, he thought, How is it making those sounds then? How does it eat? What does it eat?

What indeed. Legends and myths came rushing back and shook some fear back into him. He looked over his shoulders and moved away slowly, leaving the creature where it was. Still waddling on his haunches, as though standing up would attract something ill, he settled himself into a different corner of the temple. There was now a big slab of granite between him and the cloth bundle, and a stone wall behind him, hard against his back. He felt a little safer now. From here, he could keep an eye on the creature - and whatever came to collect it. He could still hear its yelps, but they seemed more relaxed than before. He sat hidden and waited, peering from behind his rock shield from time to time.

Hours passed. Rain poured. Every now and then Branu snuck out from behind his rock, uneasily, quickly warmed up the swaddled animal for a few seconds and waddled back. Each application of heat was received with satisfied gurgling sounds, curiously similar to water rushing over stone. Eventually, tiredness crept up on him and he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Branu tried forcing alertness, but found himself swaying in sleep each time, as his shoulder hit the slab with a soft thud. Through the sluggish, drowsy haze, something pricked at his brain, with a feeling of disquiet. Something was off… something was… missing?

Suddenly, he was wide awake. He shook his head and gently slapped his cheeks. After a few seconds of bated breath, he slowly realised what was missing: the constant squeaking had stopped.

Branu carefully looked beyond the edge of the slab, keeping his back to the protective wall behind him. The cloth bundle lay a short distance away, open and empty. Fear struck him again. Something had gotten to it, taken it. But what? If it was a panther, or another carnivore it might still be around, hiding. Or might have been something worse…

He heard a rustle from somewhere behind that, that sent ice flooding through his nerves. And then, a voice spoke. Quiet, rumbling, echoing, like an earthquake at the bottom of a deep, deep hollow.

We are thankful, Curse Bringer.

It seemed to be addressing him, talking to him!

You attempted to protect one of us in a time of need and mishap. We do not forget acts of kindness. In turn, we offer you our protection should you ever need it.

There was a pause, as though the voice was considering something

That favour is wholly contingent on your silence. Speak of this to any outside, and it will be withdrawn, and with definite consequences.

It was uttered casually, as though just stating a fact.

“N-no, of course not,” stammered Branu loudly, “What reason have I to speak of things I don’t understand? I am a simple man!”

There was no further response.

Branu waited in silence for his limbs to recover some feeling. He sat as still as the stone itself for almost an hour. Eventually, the clouds withdrew a little of their assault on the earth. Branu once again peered out from behind his shelter, checking everywhere for signs of movement. All was still but for the rain.

The downpour was by no means finished, but Branu was now propelled by another motivation. He shot out from behind his cover and ran out of the temple, into the rain, paying no heed to anything else around him but the muddy path, and its welcoming downward slope that led straight home.

For many months after, Branu was not brave enough to go near the Oldbone temple and had given it a wide berth.

However, the short encounter he’d had with... whatever they were had impressed upon him that, demons or not, they were not as vicious as the legends claimed. Their young seemed as feeble and innocent as any helpless human infant. They had even shown gratefulness, like any human parent might have.

As the initial shock slowly wore off, he went over the events in his head repeatedly and each iteration of the story dulled the memory a little, each narration smoothing out some more the rawness of emotions he had felt at the time.

I wasn’t even that scared, he told himself after a time, I was just being cautious! Given how tiny and weak the baby was, I’m sure I could have easily held my own against the older ones, with my Heat. No wonder they spoke thankfully to me. Hmph! Eaters indeed... after all, isn’t it said that even the most dangerous animals fear Humanity more than We fear them?

His ego soothed, fear eventually turned into curiosity and he started edging back closer to the temple over time. Although he kept a sharp lookout for any signs of the stone-creatures, Branu never again saw a hint of their existence.

He gave up and forgot about them over the following years, as more mundane matters occupied his mind. Vinthan grew up from a crawling toddler, to a walking adult, who had walked his way right out of his life, abandoning Branu and leaving behind only regret.

Over the next few decades, he saw Vinthan only a handful of times as he dropped by the village occasionally, never staying long. There was never much conversation between them - Vinthan would shut down any that started with brief, brusque responses.

He sometimes caught Vinthan looking at him with a pained expression, but before Branu could react, the boy would quickly look away and walk out. Branu never understood what he had done to provoke such reactions. Had he not always been the ideal father, plying to the child’s smallest wishes, constantly encouraging him? In return, all he had wanted was for Vinthan to be his son and care for his father’s wishes as he had done all through his childhood. Branu had often tried to teach him the importance of looking out for your own kin in a world where no one else would, and the value of a life lived in quiet peace. Why then did Vinthan insist on rejecting his own blood and striking out on his own?

When his many attempts at getting through to the boy failed, Branu came to accept the rift between the two of them. An old man now, he grew quiet and taciturn. Only Aima would speak to their son at length when he did show up, and scream at him for one reason or the other. Surprisingly, he would talk to her more than to his father. Maybe he was right: he had more in common with his intelligent, feisty mother than his ignorant father.

When Aima passed on, Vinthan had appeared again and spent a couple of days in the village, mostly in silence. Then, he had disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

Branu had honestly never expected to see his son ever again, until last night, when he had come home after dark to find the lamps in his hut lit, casting their low, yellow light and long shadows.

At first Branu had thought it was Niran again, the oldest of the farm-hands currently working for him. Niran fancied herselftheir leader and had recently gotten it into herselfthat they were underpaid and constantly bothered him with ridiculous demands of raises. Well, if she thought she could take advantage of him in his old age, she was mistaken. Ghonta, eh? Well he would show her how mule-headed this old man could be. Branu built himself up for a nice argument and strode in. Instead, what met his sight was Vinthan instead, sitting on the cot, hunched over with his head in his hands.

Branu’s annoyance was replaced by a brief spark of joy, followed by the bubbling up of his long-held resentment just under the surface. As always, he was not sure what to say.

“Son?” he tried awkwardly, “What brings you here so late? I could have set a meal for you if I’d known...”

Vinthan looked up, and Branu felt a jolt of shock. The boy - no - the young man looked haggard. All colour had faded from his once rich, deep brown skin and it looked ashen, grey. His eyes seemed to look right through his father as though seeing a ghost in the distance.

“Son, are you tired from your journey?” Branu asked, with a sense of something cold creeping up his legs.

“Ava…” Vinthan croaked, “I - I… something has happened…”

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

“She… she dropped down, and I didn’t think I had used so much force…”

“Who?” asked Branu, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“I killed her Ava… with my own hands…”

The old cot created as Vinthan shivered violently.