I did not know what to expect. There were worried expressions, fear, and curiousity, in differing measures.

I paused, mind working overdrive. I had considered revealing myself, but... not like this.

Still, no plan survives enemy contact. To try and break the silence, I asked the storyteller if he minded if I finished the tale.

He nodded, hesitantly.

I spoke, remembering the words. Feeling the sounds as they rolled out into the night, shaping the black ink around us into a painting of a young child and a mentor, avoiding their destiny as much as possible, to avert a fate neither of them wanted.

Faces slowly relaxed, but remained alert and wary.

When I finished, I fell silent. Then I nodded at them and left, sinking back into the warm inviting darkness.

There was much hushed discussion over the next few days, until one of them wandered off and lost his sense of direction, and began walking away from the group, despite mumbling to himself that he thought this was the way back to the others.

I appeared in front of him, and he blanched. I simply pointed my limb, and spoke quietly, indicating where the others were in case he was trying to reunite with them, and providing directions. Then I disappeared again.

In time, they began to be more comfortable with my presence as I guided them away from dangers. There were still wide eyes and rapid breathing when I revealed myself, but I told them a new story, one I'd created.

Eventually, they settled down, and I began sitting on a rock nearby where a statue once stood. First hidden, then visible. I rarely stood, but to fend off yet another of my kind intent on slaughter as they appeared over the decades. Every night, the humans sat nearby and told stories to each other, and I listened.

Now, a generation later, the adults have only ever known me as a friend. One who stands apart, but not away. I am comfortable on this rock, with good company and smiles and stories to share. I don't speak, any more, but I still get asked questions with no expectation of an answer.

It's... nice.

And the part of me that could be called a soul, once battered and soaked in blood, slowly begins to heal.