The Survivalists

-Chapter 14-

Ezra stood silently for a moment, staring silently at the oak desk for a moment before kneeling onto one knee, bowing his head in respect. The urgency of the news he beared the last time he entered his office prevented clear thinking and had utterly lost track of the different rules of etiquette. 

He didn't bother removing his hood, he knew red Hood would only chastise him for it with his usual sayings, that he knew how much respect Ezra had and there was no need to follow up with such ridiculose manners. 

Ezra was clearly thinking now, however, as he thought through his actions carefully. Lying to the red Hood had never been something he was trained for. 

Red Hood looked him over carefully and cleared his throat, his hood down around his neck and face full of unexplained suspicion. "You did not return to The Society last night." 

A dull face watched his moves carefully, his elderly features slowly falling into a blank expression. 

Ezra nodded slightly, "I was carrying out my mission into the night, red Hood. I have come to a conclusion about that other village." 

Red Hood sat forward, his glazed over eyes turning into ones of lucidity, and perhaps, excitment. Ezra only saw it on rare occasion, and then at the annual Games when the midst of the blood shedding atrocities. 

"Whis is?" Red Hood questioned slowly, standing and pulling the red hood over his greying head of hair, glistening in the lantern's fire light. 

Ezra was hit with realization. Obviously a report would have to be given about this village, for the safety of The Society. Not only would red Hood have to speak, but also the black Hood who had carried out the mission himself. Which was Ezra, of course. 

The black Hood watched carefully as red Hood drew nearer, walking slowly across the squeaky boards of wood. 

"They are incapable of hurting anyone, much less are they are threat to our society. They're barely have a village. They're undeveloped, ignorant, and naive. They pose no threat."  Ezra replied in an articulate manner, his voice slow and steady with a certain flow. 

Red Hood loomed over him, carefully looking with Ezra's eyes which he could just make out in the dim, flickering light of the lantern above them. 

Ezra also, looked within his eyes, a monotonous face watching his ancient skin move sluggishly with every blink he took. 

"Good. There's no need to show brutality then to these neandrathals. As long as they keep their own peace, we'll keep ours, yes?" 

Ezra was quiet as red Hood suddenly sighed deeply and looked at him with elderly eyes of pale color, "Ezra, will you be entering into the games this year?" 

Ezra would have laughed if the matter wasn't so serious. Though it was called 'The Games' it was everything but. 

It was almost taboo for a black Hood to not enter and if the case may be that you weren't, you must have had a reason. A good one too. 

In the end of course, it was your own decision, however, red Hood pressed the matter until you felt suffocated by the pressure put onto your shoulders. 

"Of course." Ezra replied. 

Ezra had been competeing in the games since the year he was finally allowed. Fifteen was the youngest permitted for a black Hood, though typically, black Hoods weren't any younger than that. Typically, they were older than their teens. The rule had been made specifically for him, he felt, though he never asked. 

He was, afterall, the youngest black Hood. 

Though this was not to make assumptions on. The year he could enter, at age fifteen, he'd been up again Bryn. Bryn had been the past victor for many years and though Bryn showed brute strength, Ezra had ultimately won.