Role

Chapter 7

The Falcon pumped its wings harder, its claws scraping the treetops, as the
dark presence followed.

It had been this way for over a year now: running, flying low and often
crashing to the ground in exhaustion. It must be this way, for it was always
there, always close, and it could not be allowed to take Jarson again.

Memories of that day still haunted his nightmare riddled sleep. He remembered
the Druid, so young, so arrogant. No match for Jarson, Master Magi of the
arcane arts. He could still hear his words, vile and dripping with venom,
full of hate of the magic Jarson wielded. He could still feel the heat rise
within him, the anger, the rage, the Wolf.

And he could still taste the blood.

Though he had no memory of it, he saw the aftermath, the... bloodbath, for no
other word could describe such butchery. This Druid, so young, so ignorant,
yet full of confidence, assured that magic was an abomination against nature
itself and the Wolf had not hesitated to destroy him for it.

Since that day Jarson had run, for the Wolf had felt closer than ever. From
the moment he woke, he would take the shape of the Falcon, take to the skies
and fly till he could no longer. He would hunt as the Falcon, seek water,
and only revert to rest. He would not give the Wolf a chance to destroy again.

But lately something else had been bothering Jarson. He could hear Her. The
lands above which he fled. She cried out to him and Jarson asked himself:
what was it he was truly running from?

Author's note: My laptop died and I hadn't been in a financial situation to
replace it. Sorry for being MIA for so long!