Thomas walked slowly, his boots heavy on his feet as his legs groaned from the hours of walking he had done. His heavy cloak fluttered in the cool breeze, the stitched hawk dancing on his back. His black, dirt-stained trousers were cold and wet as he stepped through puddles of mud. His hood was up, doing its best to stop the rain as it fell from the sky. The stench of the leather pack on his back filled his nostrils, and his gloves were sticking to his hands. He stared at the old two-story house in front of him. It looked more rotten and ruined then the description the constable had given him, but then again, he doubted that the man had time to look at the house when what he had been concentrating on was the nightmare that had been chasing him. “It…was HUGE,” he had said; fear drenching his voice, “its claws were as long of my damn forearm. Its eyes were red, like shining rubies, and they stared through my body, into my heart. I felt it listening to my heart. Oh god, oh god god god. Thomas, please, if not for me, than for this town, kill that damned monster before it rips us all to pieces. The old captains house, that’s…that’s where it is, hiding inside that old house. Please, Thomas, I beg you, kill it.”
That conversation had happened a few hours ago, a few hours before Thomas was cursing himself for not having taken a horse. He knew that if he had, the beast would have smelled it from a mile away, and any element of surprise for Thomas would have been blown, but his aching legs were screaming at him for not having taken one.
As the house became bigger in his view, Thomas stopped and sat down on a rock, and began to take inventory of his equipment. He took the heavy leather pack off his back, spreading its contents onto the muddy earth below him. The relief of the pack coming off felt as good as any ale he had drunk in the last week, but the joy was short lived, because he remembered he was here to work.
