Guilt and Remorse

Diving in, Crow watched the scene unfurl, the locksmith torn apart, and Sarala in shock. Before he could land, the group reached her, and the wolves dispersed. Kain beckoned everyone to chase the wolves, one of them took the lock-picking equipment. In response, Crow shifted his direction, and above the trees. He watched as the group ran towards the mountain, in the wrong direction of where the wolves turned to.

"To your right!" He squawked, following the pack.

A few heads turned upwards, and with a nod from the spell-sword, the group turned. Zoning into the pack, Crow spotted the wolf carrying the equipment further ahead of the pack, with the satchel tangled around the mutilated arm of the lock-smith that the wolf clamped onto. Diving in once again, Crow darted through the trees, and as skillfully as possible, dodged branches and a leaping squirrel. With his brute strength, he rammed his beak into the neck of the wolf. From the paralyzing blow, the wolf crumpled to the ground, and slid head first into a tree. The mutilated limb with the satchel flung out of the wolf' grasps, and landed with a thump onto the ground. With success filled ecstacy, he hopped towards the bag, and clasped his talons around the handle. Then he flapped his wings and flew away...
At least he tried to. Even with all he could muster the bag was too heavy. He called back to the group, beckoning them to his location, but received the wrong crowd.

Another wolf leapt through the bushes, and eyeing the arm, and the enchanted by the jingle of keys and lock-picking supplies, he went for the bite. Clamping his jaws around the arm, he dragged the bag, and Crow along too. He held on for fifteen meters, before letting his grip go. Rolling across the ground, Crow dug his talons into the soil, and propped himself onto his feet. Echoes of howls ripped through the bushes, and the rest of the pack came running. With quick motion, Crow jumped behind a thick tree, tightened his wings to his body, and watched as the wolves all ran past.

"I failed..." he muttered solemnly, watching as the pack ran into the deeper bush, too difficult for anyone else to pass through.

He sat there for a few moments, waiting for someone to come. Shame washed over him, and he nestled into the soil for a moment. But remembering Sarala, he quickly hopped to his feet, and waddled back towards the group, who were breaking through the forest.

"They're gone," he called. "No point chasing anymore."


Climbing back to his feet, Kain realized his failure, he should have been quicker. Maybe if ran harder, took things seriously, left his flask of ale back in town. Anything, but because of his stupidity, a man was dead, and it should have been him holding off the wolves, if he was meant to be in charge, he failed. Maybe he should have taken charge better, done something better, but the past was past, and that only pushed him off further. He pulled his flask out of his satchel, and threw it at a nearby tree. He yelled at the tree, and crumpled to his knees. Grasping his head, he expressed his rage in a silent agonized roar. He caught his breath for a moment, then when his breathing relaxed, he rose to his feet. Then be walked over to Sarala, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you good?" He asked, staring at the wound on her arm. "We should check that out, but hopefully the others can pull their task off."

< Prev : Into the Woods Next > : Chosen Words