Blood That Shouldn't Be There
Out past the western edge, morning sat still above the rooftops. From each chimney, thin trails of smoke curled into the sky. Near the water pump, a burst of laughter cut through - kids playing, maybe hiding. Something moved by the fence line; the old dog gave a slow bark just because.
A shape loomed that bore little resemblance to the tale of a beast able to cut down mountain ogres without effort.
Victor stepped forward first, boots crunching on gravel, while Clara followed close behind, her cloak pulled tight. Lane shut the heavy door with a soft thud, not bothering to glance at the fading light inside. The chief's voice had carried sharpness, even after they'd gone - cold echoes stuck around them, much like spoiled drink left too long in summer heat.
Quiet filled the space between them at first.
Clara shifted her shield to her forearm, voice steady. "Finding the hunters comes first - truth usually follows where they've been."
