Fleance 'And The Cicadas' Cry

It was night. A horde of crickets and other crepuscular critters had long replaced the larks, whose medallion-crested heads buried snugly into their plumage. The night was devoid of sound. Of the melodious calls of birds desperately reaching for their families. Of the gentle buzz of pollinators. Of the cicadas’ cry. The quiescence, however, shattered instantaneously as a young boy crashed through the prickling bushes, his huffing and puffing scattering the little crickets.
His bare foot catching a tangled root, Fleance stifled a shriek of pain as he collided face-first with the soggy ground. He did not move. He didn’t care that mud and grime littered his mouth, driveling out in slimy chunks. Didn’t care that his knee, filthy and sticky with blood, throbbed and screamed shrilly in great anguish.
Like a broken record player, the hectic cries of his father looped over
The truth was he had never been out on the town alone. Usually, his father had accompanied him or a servant, but being out among the crowd left him feeling more desolate and alone than the forest had. He began to wonder what adventures Banquo had experienced here in Inverness. Had he met his mother here? Had he ever frequented the numerous dining areas or-
“Hey!” a shrilly voice snapped Fleance out of his reverie, “Whadya doing skulking around here kid?”
Fleance whipped around, faced with a pugnacious looking girl, looming over him with her hands on her hips. Only a squeak managed to leave his lips.
Say something Fleance!!!
“You look pretty beat up there.” she observed, scanning him up and down, “Bet you’ve seen better days, right?”
Meticulously ensuring he would not cry, Fleance took a deep