Sparrow on a Hook: A Descendants 2 Fanfiction

Chapter 8

Sorry it took so long, but here is chapter 8. I have a lot going on right now, so writing isn't at the top of my to-do list. But here is the next installment. What is your favorite part of the story so far? Share in the comments. :)

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Enna's POV

The walk is longer than I expected it to be, and I have no idea where Harry is leading me. But with the arrow on my compass firmly pointing at him, wherever he goes, I have no choice but to trust him. He keeps a slight distance from me, more than the length of my sword. I know why. I caught him off guard with my threats. He knows I wasn't messing around or flapping my toungue when I spoke. He is silent, as well. And as he walks, he kicks items out of his way. So far, I've seen him shove a few younger children, and even snag a few items from them. Which just further reiterates that he is not a pirate. Pirates are thieves, true, but to steal from a child? Then I remember that this is the Isle, and they see things differently.

I take in the sights as we walk. We are still on Tick-Tock road, ambling towards Serpent Prep, I suppose. Many of the buildings are derelict and boarded up. Rats and bugs scurry across the road, searching for crumbs of food. A pair of children sit on the doorstep of a boarded-up shop, nibbling on a crust of bread. They sense me eying them, and huddle closer together. I pause and walk over to them. They look up at me questioningly, and cower away from me when I crouch down next to them. They can't be older than eleven, at the most. They have dark hair and, sad brown eyes. I can tell that they are frightened. Likely unaccustomed to friendliness. I reach a hand inside my jacket, removing two silver coins from my coin pouch. The children's eyes widen as I open my hand to reveal the gleaming coins. I hold one out to each of the children.

"I wish I had some food for you, but this should help you out a bit. Don't go flashing it about, now. Hide it until you need to use it." The children don't take the coins. Instead, they stare at me with uncertainty. I gently take each of their hands and place the coins into their small palms, closing their fingers around them. I offer them a warm smile before standing and returning to Harry, who has been watching the exchange with a quiet fascination. "What?" I ask as I go back over to him. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head dismissively. He nods at me to follow him, and after a final goodbye to the children, I follow at his heels. We walk on in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before I decide to break it. I quicken my pace to walk in front of Harry and turn about so that I'm walking backwards. "You're awfully quiet."

Without removing his icy blue eys from the path ahead, he responds. "I have nothing to say to those who insult me." I watch his face, and I see that he was injured by my words earlier.

"You're being peurile," I rebuff. He offers me a confused look. "Childish. You're being childish."

"It's childish of me to be hurt by barbed insults?" He is becoming slightly angry.

"They weren't that barbed," I defend.

"'Your father is nothing more than a one handed coward, obsessed with pixies, and afraid of crocodiles...And you're not much better. After all, the hook doesn't fall far from the hand.' Those are your exact words." His eyes, colder than the steel of my sword, meet mine, and I feel guilty now that I said those things to him. It sounds a lot harsher when it's coming from someone else's lips than my own. But I'm not about to let this beautiful, ice-eyed Scottish pirate know that.

"And I thought you isle kids were supposed to be thick-skinned." Harry's face reddens slightly, his eyes darkening, but then his expression changes to one of alarm and he makes to reach out at me, but I am whipped away by another set of hands. I am roughly slammed against a wall, and find myself staring into the powdered face of fop boy.

"Her Majesty did not appreciate your flippancy, or your tax evasion. Now there's a price on your head, unless, of course, you're willing to hand over your coin," he hisses. I snort a laugh at this angry, powdered little boy.

"What do you think my answer is, your hiney?" I ask him rhetorically, before sweetly whispering a 'no'. His entire face reddens in anger, and he thrusts a hand inside my coat to grab my coin purse. I swiftly bring my head back as far as the wall behind me will allow, and harshly slam it into fop-boy's head. He groans and staggers backwards, holding tight to my coin satchel. He roughly grabs me by the arm.

"You'll pay for that with your head!" he seethes, attempting to drag me off. I see Harry, from the corner of my eye begin to reach out for me, but I quickly wrench my arm from the boy's grip. He turns and comes back at me, and I grab a handful of his stiff, coarse curls, tugging so that he walks around behind me. Then I wrap my arm around his neck so that I have him in a chokehold against my left side. I use my left foot to stomp heavily on his left one, and he winces and groans in pain, withdrawing his injured foot. I punch him in the stomach with my right arm, and release him. The idiot decides he's not done getting hurt, and comes back for me. I turn to face him head on, then raise my right leg to kick him in the chest, sending him flying for a few feet into a tall stack of wooden crates. The impact from his back breaks one of them, and the sound of splintering wood echoes through the alley. Fop-boy is groaning in pain amidst the broken crates. I walk over to him, and snatch my satchel from his hand. I angrily grip his ridiculously pouffy collar and haul the cur to his feet. His eyes are wide with fear, his hands in the surrender position. I take my dagger from its sheath at my hip, and hold the point at his throat threateningly. I am taken aback when the dagger disappears from my hand, and turn to see Harry holding my dagger away from me. He places a hand on both of my own, and uses his eyes to communicate. They are wide and fearful, but also soft and pleading. He wants me to let the boy go. My hands soften around the boy's collar, and I lower him to the ground. No sooner do his feet touch the ground than he is sprinting in the direction from whence he came. My eyes follow him before I turn a glaring eye at Harry.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" I ask him accusingly.

"We Isle kids may fight amongst each other. We may rob each other. That's how it is here. We know no different. But at the same time, we have a line we don't cross. We don't kill each other." The look on his face is one I can't place. Almost like a melancholy kindness. His eyes are the palest blue, and I am caught off guard by their beauty once again, rimmed in thick black lashes.

"You honesly thought I was going to kill the boy?" I ask incredulously with a bark of a laugh.

"Looked it," he responds. I chuckle lightheartedly, and shake my head.

"I wouldn't have killed him." I snatch my dagger back from Harry and re-sheath it. "Just scare him, maybe give him a little nick. As a warning." Harry nods thoughtfully, but I don't miss the slight relief there.

"Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about Ant of Hearts anymore."

"Ant of Hearts?" I question.

"His nickname. Since he's so small-statured. His real name is Anthony. Son of the Queen of Hearts."

"I figured that much from all the playing cards and 'off with your head' bits," I say, laughing a little.

"Yeah, he does that quite a bit. Shall we continue?" he asks, gesturing to the path. I open my compass, and follow the arrow up to Harry's pearly smirk.

"Sure. Oh, and you don't need to worry about me in a fight. As you've seen, I can pretty much handle myself." Harry lets out a hearty laugh.

"Yeah, remind me not to pick a fight with you." We walk on down the street, most of the animosity and tension having been dissolved.