The huntsman stared down the shaft of his arrow. A wolf had wandered onto his property, slowly making its way to his chickens... Again.
He hesitated, feeling the lines between reality and the spirit world waver. His grief and sorrow had already weakened them. He had seen the departed from his life all day. It had only been a day.
He swore he saw Lancthis playing in the streets.
He saw his mother sitting at the hearth, spinning thread.
He saw Wulf working at one of the forges in Bree.
He saw Kitt losing herself to drink once more.
He swore he saw Mortermon's face when he woke up.
He saw his grandfather chatting with other elders of Bree.
He lowered his bow, wallowing in grief and heartbreak. He neglected to notice the wolf turned and crept towards him as visions of the dead swam in his vision. He neglected to notice the lone brigand that crept up behind him, thinking the distracted and pitiful man was an easy target. And truly, he was.
Egfor only clued in something was off when the wolf paused its advance, one paw poised in the air, then it suddenly bolted the other way, fleeing.
He half turned his head to see what was behind him, receiving a heavy blow to the head before he could see. The man staggered and sank to his knees as they gave out on him
Any sense of humanity that was left in the man, now departed all at once.
The brigand froze, hand poised for another blow. The man he attacked let out a low, inhuman growl from deep within his chest.
Suddenly Egfor leapt up, snarling like some frenzied beast, all teeth and clawed fingers. In truth, he was a frenzied beast. No fight or flight, just fight. He ignored the brigands screams and shrieks of terror and pain as tooth and nail rent its way through the man. Any of the cold winter's morn, Egfor did not feel. The blood warmed him from the cold.
He didnt realize what he had done till he was staring at a cold, mutilated and lifeless corpse. Blood cooling on his skin. He lets go of the man's throat slowly, lurching to his feet, staggering back and staring in abject horror.
He did this.
He murdered a man. Granted, he attacked Egfor first. But the huntsman took it too far. He wiped blood from his face with his sleeve.
Egfor's breath clouded as he worked, piercing the earth with the shovel repeatedly, his thoughts dwelling on what he did. Any good in the man had died with Mortermon. He wasn't the same man. He wondered how long he could keep the act up.
