He sits silently, hidden within the shadow cast by the barn. His ears
swivel towards the rear of the hut. His purpose in life is to remember
all he sees and hears. As the sun sets on the other side of the barn, the
furry one stretches out in the shadow. Once settled, he closes his eyes
and by all outward appearances, he seems to be asleep. Anyone with a little
bit of intelligence would know that this is not true. As the darkness deepens,
his black and gray fur renders him invisible to the human sight. He becomes
nothing more than a shadow within a shadow as long as he doesn't move.
A candle is lit within the hut in front of him. He never opens his eyes,
letting his ears register all that is happening within. Minutes pass into
an hour and the sun is nothing more than a memory like yesterday and the
day before that. Time passes and a high femine voice can be heard emanating
from the hut. He raises his furry head and opens his eyes. This is what
he has been waiting for all evening. He has heard her voice before and
recognizes her for what she is. A story teller that doesn't know it. He
hears her call her children to her so that she may once again tell them
a story called up from the past............
He groans and slowly comes around. His first thoughts are why
is he wet. Slowly getting to his feet, he feels a fire in his side. The
last two ribs on one side have been broken.
Looking down, he sees that he has landed in a puddle of water not more than knee deep. Just enough to soften the landing he made while unconscious.
Turning about, he seeks the campfire that his friends once inhabited before the ogre rolled over them. yet nothing can be seen of it. Either trampled out or burnt out, no one knows how long it has been.
The sounds of battle carry far and wide across the marsh. Shapes appearing and disappearing through the mist. Moving out across the bog towards the battle, his hope is to find help or a way to defend himself.
Slipping between groups of ogres and humans fighting. The things he sees are not fit for human eyes to gaze upon. Here, an ogre is ripping a human in two with it's bare hands. There, three humans turning an ogre into raw meat with their swords even thought it has long since died.
He slips into a hollow between a fallen tree and one that is still growing. About 10 paces away an ogre just finished cutting another human in two. The ogre turns and strides off across the marsh in search of another to slay.
After the fiend has vanished within the fog, the slight human stands and moves across the battlefield to where the melee just took place. Settling in beside the corpse, he slowly pulls the broad sword from the grasp of the dead man. Glancing into the eyes of the dead man, it dawns on him that it is Rattar.
Overcome by grief and anger all at once, he no longer slinks across the battlefield. Standing upright, this mere farmer makes his peace with the eternals and strides off across the battlefield to do nothing more than to kill as many as possible before dying to protect his home and family.
Crossing an open area in the bog, he spots an ogre with it's back to him. Silently he races across the moss. Leaping onto a half sunken boulder in the marsh. He launches himself into the air at the ogre. His body nothing more than a spear. The sword in his right hand is the point of the spear and it is aimed at the neck of the ogre. His sword drives straight through the ogre's neck. A mighty scream rents the battlefield as his momentum carries him past the ogre's shoulder. His left arm whips out to wrap around the head of the ogre. Dragging it down with him to the muck. The ogre is dead before hitting the ground.
Wiping his sword on the body of the fallen ogre, he hears a battle cry of others behind him. Spinning, he turns to face the charge of not one but three ogres who heard the first's dead scream.
His choices are to turn and run, knowing he will be cut down from behind. Or standing his ground and dying on the spot. He charges at them with sword gripped with white knuckles.
The sky explodes with a bright white fire and the sound of bugles and horses can be heard. He knows the sound of the Riders of the Mist when he hears it. Knowing that the battle might yet be won, he smiles as he swings. A spear that is as round as a man's wrist is driven through him. He defiantly snarls up into the oppressive ogre's face while launching murderous upward blow meant to gut the ogre. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a blur as something smashes into the side of his head. A loud crack and a blinding flash of pain rips through his body as darkness once again embraces him.
The canine pushes his front paws under himself to stand up. Turning
he slips along the barn wall and into the alley. A few minutes later, he
is nothing more than a shadow drifting out of town and across the fields
to the edge of the woods. Upon reaching the edge of the woods, the
wolf turns his shaggy muzzle back to glance over his shoulder at the thatched
dwellings that hide the hut. The wolf does something that would scare any
sane person to death. He speaks softly to himself.
"For every eight evils I see in this world, I only find one good. Yet the one who does good, does so much as to outweigh the eight evils. I shall remember this man who did what he had to".
His furry head swings back around towards the woods. Taking a step, the wolf slips into the forest and it gone from sight, leaving nothing to mark his passing.