strange comforts

The first thing he was aware of when he stirred for the first time was how warm it was. "Sangat hangat." (So warm) he muttered, turning over and falling straight back to sleep.

The second time he stirred, he woke up properly, suddenly aware that he was lying on something soft with a cover over him.

He opened his eyes, slowly sat up and regarded his surroundings. He looked around more with a mild curiosity than fear: it was too warm and comfy to be a prison cell but too dark and bare to be someone's room. There were no windows, the walls were made of stone and the only furniture in it were the bed he was laying on and a small table and chair beside it.

Upon seeing the table, his eyes fell on the tray of soup and bread that had been left on it...

'Soup and bread...' when was the last time he'd had either of those things.

He looked around once more, slowly, checking to see if there was anyone else in the room this was meant for - or indeed if there was anyone to stop him from having it - but he was alone.

Hesitantly, Mongol leaned forward and picked up the bread. No one stopped him, even when he broke it open and sniffed it, sighing at how good it smelled.

He then reached over and dipped his finger in the soup, which was surprisingly still warm (he wondered how long this stuff had been left there for) brought it to his mouth and sucked it off. He could help the pleased "mmmm" at the taste of it.

Thus satisfied, he sat on the edge of the bed, brought the tray closer and began tearing up the bread to dip in the soup. They'd even left him a spoon so that when he'd finished the bread, he could scoop out the soup that was left. He didn't stop until every drop and crumb was devoured and when it was done he lay back on the bed with a satisfied gasp.

If he hadn't just woken up, the food might have made him quite sleepy. As it was, he felt wide awake and his mind began to wander at his situation.

It was pretty clear someone had brought him here.

To kill him?

But then why bother with the nice bed and good food. Was a sort of 'last meal' kind of thing?

Or maybe they were just planning on keeping him for the rest of his life, locked up and hidden away, where he couldn't cause any trouble.

But why even bother with that? If they thought he was dangerous, it'd be much easier just to kill him. Maybe they had some sort of philosophy against killing children...

There was a noise from the door...

Mongol sat up, backing up against the wall and lifting his knees to his chest as it opened. A woman appeared behind it, with shoulder-length dark hair, eye that in the darkness appeared a very dark blue and pale skin that stood out against all of those things.

She regarded him, now hugging his legs, only his eyes visible above them before he looked away.

"You are allowed to interact with us ya know." She told him in his own language. "No one's going to tell you to shut up if you start talking."

He didn't move. Just kept his face buried in his knees.

"You could at least tell me your name."

Slowly, he lifted his head. "Mongol." He muttered.

"Mongol? That means "blessing" doesn't it?"

He almost smiled, though he still wasn't looking at her. "I don't feel like a blessing."

She leaned forward. "What happened back there, wasn't your fault..."

"Did I hurt anyone?" Now he was looking at her.

She shook her head. "Nothing major. You lost control, it happens sometimes with your kind..."

[I]"Why?" My kind?

He was growing more hysterical now.

[I]"What am I?"

She paused, considering how best to reveal the truth. This boy clearly knew nothing of the shadow world. Maybe it would be best to deduce what he might know. "What do you think you are?"

He looked away again, looking ashamed. "I think I'm a demon. A monster."

"Well, good news. You're not a demon."

He brightened a little.

"But you were born of a demon. But don't panic, you're only half demon. You're called a warlock. People like you are made when a demon sleeps with a human, which actually happens quite often." She was trying to subtly hint that he wasn't the only one of his kind. That there were many others like him.

"So I am a monster."

But that was all he seemed to take from it.

"Not necessarily." She kept trying. "Your blood and your heritage is only half your story. It's what's in the heart and soul that really matters. And you DO have a heart and soul."

He turned his narrowed cats-eye on her. "How would you know."

"The first thing you asked was if you hurt anyone. A monster wouldn't have cared about that now would they?"

He thought about this. Had he really cared, or was he just trying to make it seem like he'd cared? No. He'd asked the question automatically. He hadn't thought about whether or not it would make it seem like he'd cared. That must've meant...That he really had cared.

He cared.

He wasn't a monster.

"What are they going to do with me?"

"Teach you." Amila said, simply. "That's all. Teach about yourself, what you are, how to use your powers...so that you don't lose control." She added the last bit with a subtle inline of the head. Mongol chuckled slightly. "Do you know how to read and write?"

He shook his head. "Uh-uh." He'd grown up on a farm. Learning to read and write wasn't exactly a necessity for him.

"That's alright, they can teach you that too."

"Will you teach me."

"I can stay a few days if you want but really you should learn from one of your own. From another warlock."

He nodded. That made sense. "What's your name?" He wanted to know who to ask for if he ever felt he needed her but didn't know how to find her.

"Amila. Amila Lightwood."

He sniggered. "That's a funny name."

"It's an English name." She said, sounding indignant but smiling as she said it.

"The English are funny."

"I suppose we are a bit."

They both laughed.

Amila thought this was a good place to leave it for now.

She made to leave but then stopped. "Oh. One last thing." She reached into the inside pocket of her gear jacket. "This little critter was with you when we found you."

"Kegol!" The boy exclaimed when he saw the squirrel, reaching out for it.

Still dazed but clearly delighted to him the squirrel jumped straight from her hands to his, running up his arms and then round his shoulders and neck while he laughed.

Amila looked in the scene fondly. 'At least he had one little friend out there.'

In all honesty, Mongol still wasn't too sure about any of this, but later that evening he bathed in a hot bath, ate properly cooked meat and - for the second time that day - rested in a proper, soft warm bed and for the first time since his mother died, he felt comfortable. And not physically comfortable but comfortable with the way his life was going.