As the Crow Flies

Dreams were a gift to some, but for Kline his dreams were a realm where he was tormented. His dreams gave his demons access to him, and here, in this primal place, they had full access to hi mind. The torment was full, they came to him and were manifest in all the horror that he knew.

He stood on the field, his claws dripping with the blood of hundreds. Kline’s skin was black and leathery, scaled and inhuman, splattered with blood and awful from those he had been killing. Soldiers and mercenaries all came to him and with sword or claw he rent them apart. He killed, and he loved it, he killed, and it fuels his pleasure more then anything.

His eyes went to the small village at the edge of the killing, and felt the draw, the lure, to kill there, to see and feel the death of those. Blood of the innocent called to him, begged to be slain.

The voice woke him, and he sat bolt upright, hand on the knife in his boot. The tent was lighter, not bright, or illuminated, but not as dark as it was last night. He could make out the shape of things in the place, he could make out the feeling of his own sweat on his body.

Lifting his hand, he looked at it.

No blood.

He let out a sigh and stood, the voices of the other two were muffled outside the tent. He could make out they were speaking of the horses, there would be more then enough, though they may have to walk them through the woods.

He opened the tent, slipping on his cloak, he stepped out, pulling it closed to cover the blood that stained his shirt from the fight the day before. He was used to sleeping out in the wilds, he looked no worse for the night. His hair was even still well kept though he had slept for a few hours. He let out a breath, listening and hearing the crows.

“We can walk the horses.” He said as if the idea were clear, and he was expecting to be followed. “You put your box on one, if we are walking through brush I do not need you making a racket with that thing.” He pointed to the box on Lafayette’s back.

He would need a new horse, his old one was partially eaten last night, and the rest was buried shallowly while Kalena was sleeping. It was nice to have meat though, and he wondered if his guys would be finishing off the last of it when they got back.

He walked to the horses looking for the largest of them. “I am sure my men are well, I just hope they have something warm to drink by the time we get there.” He stroked the side of the large horse’s neck, a chestnut brown from head to hoof with a black mane and tail, the nose was patched with the same black color. “We were supposed to be in the city this morning. I was looking forward to sausage and potatoes, but I will have to settle with weak coffee.”

In a tree a crow stopped and barked at them. It seemed to be waiting for something. The bird was large, ints of blue in the feathers and it watched them, Kalena most of all, watched perched in a branch of the old trees around them.

The walk back to the road was longer then it seemed to get to the camp, though the crow did seem to help. As they traveled it would keep a head of them, barking at them as they seemed to move off course.