Evidently, I’d been wounded.
The men had thought me dead, and I suppose I had been closer to death than before.
I remember going out alone and finding wyrm sign. The trail had led down through thickets and over stones, into the depths of a narrow gorge, and out into a small glen.
After that, I have no memories.
The men who found me, the ones who dragged my body into the safety of a house they’d turned into a small fortress, told me the rest of the tale.
They had heard the sounds of gunfire and hastened to it. When they drew close, they saw the wyrm and me facing off. The Colts roared, matching the wyrm’s own ferocious cries. The slugs hit him and drove him back, but his skill with his breath was something to behold.
The wyrm protected himself with the fire, and as I reloaded one of the Colts, he attacked.
His tail lashed out and snapped both my knees, and even as I emptied the Colts into his belly, he bathed me in flames.
The men, not knowing who I was, and fearing the wyrm might turn upon them next, assumed I was dead and remained in hiding.
I was not dead, and the wyrm had more to fear from me or anyone else.
The men told me of a great, one-eyed raven, its feathers white with age.
The raven dove one the wyrm and struck it a blow across the head, tearing out one eye and ripping open the mouth.
Howling, the wyrm gave up its assault on me and fled for the safety of the forest.
The raven called out sharply to the men, its cry commanding and fierce.
They knew it wanted them to come for me, and so they did.
When I heard their story, I thanked them and asked them to send a runner for my men, which they did.
I am nearly healed, and when I’m done, the wyrm will die.
#Denmark #supernatural #monsters #paranormal