No stairs, just dirt
The boy snarled and jumped, knocking Shoe over. "More," he snarled. One of Beosta's blades hit him in the neck, spilling blood all over Shoe, but he didn't seem to think much of it.
This time the muffin vanished almost instantly. The boy grabbed Shoe’s hand, eyes wild by now. “More,” he growled.
“Shoe!” Beosta pulled him back, but couldn’t shake the boy’s grip.
*hugs very many*
You are absolutely not replaceable. I'll extrapolate. But my point is that nobody is you, and nobody will ever be as good as you. You're an incredible and amazing and completely irreplaceable person, Cellist. I promise.
You don't sound like a madman. You've put into words a vague fear I have too. You tend to do that.
Beosta clutched her crossblade harder. “Don’t,” she warned.
The boy’s eyes widened and he snatched the muffin, devouring it in three quick bites. “More,” he demanded.
A skinny little boy with a dirt-streaked face was watching them from outside, eyes wide. "Do you have any food?"
Beosta pulled out her crossblade (like a crossbow but with little blade disks). "Are you Famine?"
"I'm hungry," the boy offered.