This Is Bad

Pontifex galloped back into Seracia, the organ in his chest beating at a frenzied pace. What had he just witnessed? Why had those rogues been attacking the Seracian woman? Had she done something to provoke them? Were they looking to kill her? Were they wanderers who had been hired to execute some kind of hit men job? There were so many questions that were firing through his head and he didn't have a single answer to any of them. Once he told Gerhardt, he was sure the king would have questions too, ones the esquire would most not likely have solid answers for. He ran until he reached the heart of the territory where the barn stood, the spot the king had called him to not too long ago for the trip to the pack Valhalla. The brute threw his head back, inky lips coming together as a urgent call burst forth from his larynx, summoning the king and any other Seracian under a high rank. After a moment he allowed the call to drop, crow returning to its former position, golden gaze looking out anxiously to the rest of the territory as he paced, unable to keep still for the moment. What was happening?



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