twigs, and as he came closer he also heard the man’s laboured breathing.
Brand was not letting one of them get away. His side ached, even in wolf-form, but he ran on, his focus solely on the pursuit.
The man came into sight, and Brand quickened his pace even more, pushing himself as far as he could go. When he got close enough he jumped, his paws digging into the man’s back, making him loose his balance and fall face first to the ground.
He groaned in pain but his hand searched for the sword at his side. Brand snarled and locked his jaw around the man’s lower arm, tearing the fabric and the flesh. He screamed.
“Brand!” Kamoor came running, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He strode towards them, jaw set and eyes focused, and Brand stepped away, letting Kamoor do the job of killing the man.
Brand stumbled, and as he shifted back he found himself on his knees. He touched his side gently and his hand came away covered in blood. Looking down, he saw the blood oozing from his wound, and back in human form, the pain came rushing back, making him dizzy and nauseous.
“You should’ve left those men to me,” Kamoor snapped, as he was suddenly at Brand’s side. “Sarab and I would’ve handled them just fine. Now you have gone and made your wound a hundred times worse.”
Brand could only laugh bitterly. “I have been hurt all my life,” he revealed, “this is no different than being beaten daily, or being whipped or attacked by a lindworm. Do not worry, Commander, I am perfectly used to this.” It was sad really, if he thought too much about it.
But it was true. His injuries were nothing compared to his father’s sadistic ways to break him. His father had not succeeded though, because Brand had picked himself up and gone after Garrick and that witch, and he had got to his old friend just in time to divert a lindworm from landing a fatal blow.
So being taken prisoner and beaten up was nothing unusual for him, though it always hurt, and being stabbed... he had never actually been stabbed before, and it was something else entirely than being whipped, but he could not make up his mind on what hurt the most, because both hurt greatly in their own ways.
Brand could take pain. He could take being beaten. But the pain of a knife cutting open his flesh... he was not good with that kind of pain.
“You should apologize to Khatlah,” he mumbled, slumping against Kamoor’s bigger, more muscular body. He knew he was going to pass out: he had lost too much blood. Whether he would wake again was another matter, so he had to have his say. “You should just apologize to him... and be happy together.”
Then everything went black.
Brand woke to the crackling of a fire and he blinked his eyes open. It was dark, with the stars clear in the sky. The events of the day came back to him, and he closed his eyes again. He had been stabbed, Kamoor had been forced to kill Sakoptari and Brand himself had killed over half of the dragon slayers. He had never killed anyone before.
Breathing next to him brought his eyes back open, and he turned his head a fraction. Kamoor was asleep on a pallet at his side, his chest rising and falling slowly.
“You really frightened him,” a quiet voice spoke up, and Brand turned his head to the other side to see Sarab crouching by the fire. “He has been by your bedside all day, watching, cleaning and wrapping your wound.”
“What have you been doing?” Brand asked, watching the tired lines on Sarab’s face.
“I’ve buried all those dead men in the woods,” Sarab replied, stoking the fire with a stick. “They deserve a proper burial, no matter what they have done, and the people of your country are buried in the soil, are they not?”
“Yeah. We bury our dead.” Brand bit his lip, both wanting to and not wanting to ask the question of Sakoptari. He needed to know the answer and at the same time he did not.
Brand was not letting one of them get away. His side ached, even in wolf-form, but he ran on, his focus solely on the pursuit.
The man came into sight, and Brand quickened his pace even more, pushing himself as far as he could go. When he got close enough he jumped, his paws digging into the man’s back, making him loose his balance and fall face first to the ground.
He groaned in pain but his hand searched for the sword at his side. Brand snarled and locked his jaw around the man’s lower arm, tearing the fabric and the flesh. He screamed.
“Brand!” Kamoor came running, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He strode towards them, jaw set and eyes focused, and Brand stepped away, letting Kamoor do the job of killing the man.
Brand stumbled, and as he shifted back he found himself on his knees. He touched his side gently and his hand came away covered in blood. Looking down, he saw the blood oozing from his wound, and back in human form, the pain came rushing back, making him dizzy and nauseous.
“You should’ve left those men to me,” Kamoor snapped, as he was suddenly at Brand’s side. “Sarab and I would’ve handled them just fine. Now you have gone and made your wound a hundred times worse.”
Brand could only laugh bitterly. “I have been hurt all my life,” he revealed, “this is no different than being beaten daily, or being whipped or attacked by a lindworm. Do not worry, Commander, I am perfectly used to this.” It was sad really, if he thought too much about it.
But it was true. His injuries were nothing compared to his father’s sadistic ways to break him. His father had not succeeded though, because Brand had picked himself up and gone after Garrick and that witch, and he had got to his old friend just in time to divert a lindworm from landing a fatal blow.
So being taken prisoner and beaten up was nothing unusual for him, though it always hurt, and being stabbed... he had never actually been stabbed before, and it was something else entirely than being whipped, but he could not make up his mind on what hurt the most, because both hurt greatly in their own ways.
Brand could take pain. He could take being beaten. But the pain of a knife cutting open his flesh... he was not good with that kind of pain.
“You should apologize to Khatlah,” he mumbled, slumping against Kamoor’s bigger, more muscular body. He knew he was going to pass out: he had lost too much blood. Whether he would wake again was another matter, so he had to have his say. “You should just apologize to him... and be happy together.”
Then everything went black.
Brand woke to the crackling of a fire and he blinked his eyes open. It was dark, with the stars clear in the sky. The events of the day came back to him, and he closed his eyes again. He had been stabbed, Kamoor had been forced to kill Sakoptari and Brand himself had killed over half of the dragon slayers. He had never killed anyone before.
Breathing next to him brought his eyes back open, and he turned his head a fraction. Kamoor was asleep on a pallet at his side, his chest rising and falling slowly.
“You really frightened him,” a quiet voice spoke up, and Brand turned his head to the other side to see Sarab crouching by the fire. “He has been by your bedside all day, watching, cleaning and wrapping your wound.”
“What have you been doing?” Brand asked, watching the tired lines on Sarab’s face.
“I’ve buried all those dead men in the woods,” Sarab replied, stoking the fire with a stick. “They deserve a proper burial, no matter what they have done, and the people of your country are buried in the soil, are they not?”
“Yeah. We bury our dead.” Brand bit his lip, both wanting to and not wanting to ask the question of Sakoptari. He needed to know the answer and at the same time he did not.
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