Patience Savage was the first person to whom I sent a raven, and she was, unfortunately, the first lost as well.
The raven was diligent and loyal, keeping a close eye on all approaches to the small house in which they lived. I had helped birth Patience in 1804, and I had helped with her raising at times as well. When her husband, Marcus, passed in 1874, I grew concerned for her. This concern doubled as the years passed, and I heard of the creatures which seemed to be raiding out of Gods’ Hollow.
At first, it was only a few head of sheep, occasionally a cow. Whatever the creatures were, they were growing bolder.
By 1878, when Patience and the raven were alone on the North Road, the creatures raided the house. There were three of them, according to the bird, and the shotgun Patience kept with her misfired. She and the raven attempted to fight, but the bird was thrown through a window, and Patience was slain.
The raven managed to return home and inform me of Patience’s fate before he succumbed to his wounds.
I left the house at a run, armed with my Colts. When I arrived, two of the creatures were gone, the last sitting in the kitchen and sucking the marrow out of Patience’s old bones. The creature was strange, its flesh pale and hairless, the face elongated like a beak. It was naked and filthy, scarred, and foul. When it saw me, the creature sprang to its feet and charged, running on all fours with a horrifying grace.
I blew its brains out through the back of its skull and stepped aside as it stumbled, skidded, and slid to a stop near the door.
Its skin was foul to the touch, so I hooked my belt around one clawed foot and dragged the damned thing to the Hollow. I threw it over a short stone wall and watched it roll to a stop against the stump of a tree I knew wasn’t there the day before.
There would be more bodies, though. Of that, I was certain.
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