Having fled off into the night, Falcher darted down alleyways, narrowly avoiding running guards. The library fires occupied the entire city; it seemed. The further away he ventured, the fewer guards he saw. That library, as dusty as it was, was of considerable importance to the humans.

He remembered the fellow he’d met earlier that day. He said he was going to be down by the docks. However, this city was a massive frontier stronghold for Huma, a sprawling metropolis of nearly a million in size. Getting to the docks all while staying out of sight of the town guards was no easy feat.

He slowed down to a calm walk once he was a dozen city blocks away from the blazing inferno. He raised his snout and sniffed the air. It was still salty, which meant the docks weren’t too far away, but the choking odor of wood-burning smoke began wafting toward him. The flames hadn’t jumped buildings yet, or so it looked. The city garrison would likely be preoccupied with putting it out for a while. He had some time to breathe, even if only for a few minutes.

The alleyways were surprisingly empty. It seemed even the riff-raff had a ‘home’ of sorts to spend their nights. He now had free rein to travel throughout the city. He leaned out from around the corner of a building and peaked into the roadway. No guards were in sight, but there was someone just down the road, dressed in illusive black garbs, appearing as if blurred in perpetual motion despite standing still. Falcher squinted. “Illusion magic?”

Then suddenly, there was a knife pressed up against his back. A low growl sounded off from behind him. “An intelligent wolf-kin, tell me, furred one, what are you doing?”

Falcher slowly raised his hands and turned his head, getting only a glimpse of the man, or rather beast, behind him. It was more wolf-like than humanoid, deformed, and thinly haired. His eyes glanced towards the sky, a full moon. “That explains the growl…” he mumbled to himself.

“Answer my question. You with the city guard?” The werewolf impolitely asked.

“Let me counter you with the obvious. Do I look fucking human?” Falcher said, dropping his arms to his side. “Why on Oak’s green fields, would I, a wolf-kin, work with these dipshit humans?”

“Because you blew our plans before we were ready!” The werewolf growled.

“Plans? What plans?” Falcher slowly turned about, still very aware of the knife being pointed at him.

The werewolf took a step back, getting a better view of Falcher’s wolf-like features. “Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to say that. Well, guess I have to kill you.”

“I’d rather not. It would draw attention away from that fire and get us both into deep shit.” Falcher countered.

There was a sudden echoing of howls from all across the city, followed by alarm bells mere minutes later. The city was now awake and under attack.

The werewolf lowered his knife. “You’re coming with me now. I don’t have time to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be in this city any more than I have to be. I’m trying to get to the docks so I can get a boat out of here.”

“The docks are crawling with guards at night. You won’t make it. That said, I won’t let you leave, regardless.” The werewolf grabbed Falcher’s shirt collar.

Falcher bared his fangs, growling back. “Let go, you filth.” He unsheathed his claws and slashed at the werewolf. The creature let go and reeled back, holding the side of its jaw. Four deep claw marks drew blood from his jowls. “You fucked up”

Falcher drew his rapiers, tossing the books he was carrying to the ground. He took a formal fencing stance, pointing the tips of his blades at the werewolf. “Try me, beast. I serve the Oakengrove. I will not fail him.”

The beast readied himself for battle, baring his long claws out. This was personal. It charged forward and swiped at him.

Falcher stepped back, dodging the swipe and riposte with a flurry of jabs into the creature’s abdomen. It drew blood, but the werewolf didn’t flinch from it.

The werewolf leaped at him and pinned him to the ground, using its whole body to weigh down the more agile foe. It leaned in to rip at his neck, only to have its nose bitten clean through by Falcher’s sharp fangs instead. It howled in pain, giving Falcher a moment to break free from its grasp.

Falcher freed his right arm and punched upwards into the werewolf’s throat, knocking the wind out of it and sending it toppling onto its side. He scurried to his feet and picked up a rapier, pressing it against the werewolf’s throat. “I want no part in your qualms with this city. Raze it to the ground for all I care, but do not stop me from my mission.”

Caught up in a blind bloodlust, the werewolf ignored his request and swiped the blade aside, giving him another jump. Claws forward, the werewolf swiped across Falcher’s chest, slicing up his once fancy clothes. Warm blood dripped down through his fur.

Falcher responded with one long deep thrust of his blade into the creature’s side, having its sharp pointy tip come out the other end. With a hasty yank, the blade slid its way out, covered in blood. The werewolf shrieked with pain but showed no signs of weakness.

The creature took another swipe at him, catching his face with the back end of its claws, giving him only minor scratches on his face. It followed up with a down swipe of the other set of claws, gouging out his left arm.

Furious, Falcher ducked down and launched from his legs, pointing the rapier forward, piercing the creature’s chest. The blade broke off in the creature, but not without being redirected at an angle instead of forward. The metal never came out the other side, instead now remained lodged in it. “My blade!” Falcher exclaimed, distraught at his favorite sword now broken.

The beast howled with every movement as it caused the pointy blade to shift around inside its chest, poking everything with stinging pain. It reeled back, pressing its hand against the wound, trying to dig out the metal, unsuccessfully.

Falcher ran over to the knife, which the scuffle had kicked some feet away, picked it up, and threw it at the creature. The knife landed in its neck, killing its windpipe, and silencing its horrid screams. It fell over, barely able to breathe properly, slowly suffocating on its blood.

Falcher huffed, trying to catch his breath. “And fuck you for breaking my sword.” He gave a swift but heavy boot kick to the creature’s head, instantly breaking its neck and killing it. He threw down the hilt of his broken rapier. The noise had likely drawn attention to him and so he took a second glance out of the alley. The blurred figure was gone, probably running from the howling. There was still no sign of the city guards. He stepped out into the city street and took another look back. The intensity of the fire appeared to grow exponentially.

Upon a second glance at the surrounding buildings, he discovered that most of the city was constructed of wood, with only the ground floor predominantly made of cobblestone or stone masonry. The city was going to burn way worse than he feared. He needed to get out. He raised his nose, trying to sniff out the sea breeze, but it was faint compared to the stifling smell of smoke.

Just as he got his bearings, the flow of adrenaline stopped and the pain surged and overwhelmed his mind. He keeled over, smearing the blood across his chest, shirt, and arms. “This is bad. I won’t make it home in this condition.” Still, he had to make it to the docks. Perhaps the friend he made earlier in the day could help him.

He limply followed the faint scent of the ocean breeze for what felt like a good mile. The road came up to a T-intersection in which the crossroad overlooked the massive wooden dockyard below the bluff. The docks were sprawling, warehouses nearly everywhere, seafaring vessels sleepily creaking in the harbor. Not even the catwalk torches were lit. Nobody was awake at this hour. Falcher looked around and saw a set of stone stairs descending to the wooden docks. He walked over and down the steps as quietly as he could manage.

With almost divine luck, he bumped into his friend Gabriel as he rounded the stairs. Gabriel fell onto his rear, dropping his sack of looted goods. “Hey! Watch where you’re—” He paused, getting a glimpse of the face of the wounded figure in front of him. “Falcher?”

Falcher nodded and fell to one knee, grunting.

“The hell happened to you?” Gabriel got up and moved in to get a better look at Falcher’s wounds.

“Werewolves…” he grumbled.

“That explains the warning bells and the smoke.”

“Actually, the smoke—” Falcher coughed up some blood between words. “Was my fault.”

“We can worry about that later. You need a healer. Those wounds are going to be fatal if we can’t stop the bleeding. Now hold still.” Gabriel undid the cloth that was serving as the holding pouch for his ill-gotten foodstuffs. It was large enough to blanket Falcher’s chest and with enough rope to wrap around him twice. He tied it as tight as he could physically get it.

Falcher grunted from the constrictive nature of the makeshift bandage. “I didn’t know you were a doctor.”

“I’m not, but my sewing skills have multiple uses. Now, get up and lean on me,” Gabriel ordered, pulling Falcher up. As he did, the books Falcher was carrying fell out of his grasp.

“What is this?” Gabriel paused to glance at the books.

“The library, I’m sorry,” Falcher grunted out the words.

“At least you saved something. Come on, I know a safe house.”

The next morning, his eyes peeled themselves open. The room was dimly lit by dying candlelight. It was spacious and yet crowded. He tilted his head to the left. Another bed was beside him. They had made it cheaply by using an old traveler’s cot and a straw mattress, if one could call it a mattress.

Falcher tried to sit up, but pain shot up through all of his wounds. Splints and wraps mostly immobilized his left arm. “A hospital?” Falcher was confused. He took another glance around him. It was not a hospital. There were boxes everywhere with old and faded company logos on them, bags and bales of straw strewn about haphazardly. “Warehouse perhaps?” He mumbled.

He took a deep breath and forced himself upright. It hurt a lot. The constant burning pain nearly made him give up and stay down. Yet, now upright, he trudged through the pain and took a third glance around the warehouse. There were other people, a combination of races including ratons, a people of rat-kin whom he’d personally only ever heard about.

Around him were people with bandages covering varying limbs. This must be the place where they treat the outcasts for their wounds. His movement caught the eye of the raton nearest to him. “Yo, finally awake?”

Falcher grunted in acknowledgment, still flinching with each movement of his body.

“Brau’s the name, thieving is the game,” The male raton walked up beside his cot and held out a paw.

Getting an up-close look at him, the raton was creme colored, with a naked tail and paws. His fur was slicked back, showing yellowish eyes and a wide grin.

Falcher weakly lifted his arm and shook the Raton’s paw. “Where am I?”

“Welcome to medical barracks for the beastfolk rebellion,” Brau said.

“Rebellion? Here in Huma?” Falcher let out a wheezing cough. “Will that even work?”

The raton bobbed his head from side to side. “Dunno. It’s been around for a decade or so already, but that’s neither good nor bad.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“Not in this shape. You won’t make it past the city gates, much less through Sura’s forest.”

Falcher looked around. The books he stole from the library weren’t anywhere to be seen. “Where’s my books?”

“Dunno that either. You’ll have to ask the fella who dropped you off.”

“Gabriel? Where is he?”

“He left once the medical staff here took you in.”

“Damnit.” However, it also occurred to him that his swords were not present.

“I saw the chief medical officer walk off with your swords. Probably into secure storage, would be my guess.”

“How do you know so much yet so little at the same time?” The mixed tidbits of knowledge baffled Falcher.

“I know what I see. Simple as.”

Someone had taken notice of Falcher’s awakened state and hastily approached the makeshift medical bed. She was a very tall satyr with dirty blonde hair and white robes stained with old dried blood. She approached with an exhausted smile. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. You were in bad shape. How is your side feeling?”

“Sore and tender. Tell me, doc, where is my stuff?” Falcher questioned her with what fierce determination he could muster.

“Safe and secure. I will return your items to you once I determine you are medically capable and the commander gives the approval.” She explained.

“Commander? You mean the rebel leader?” Falcher raised a brow.

“Commander Barnabas Amsel Amidalus Therok.” She rattled off the name with a surprising degree of military formality.

Falcher paused. “Well, I’ll be damned. So where is he?”

“Out and about. When he’s ready, he will come to you. Now, in the meantime, lift that shirt. I need a second look at those claw marks.” She leaned over and pulled on Falcher’s shirt, revealing multiple scabbed-over claw marks on his side. She pressed a finger against the scars and dug a fingernail beneath it, ripping up part of the scab.

Falcher winced in pain and growled.

“Hush puppy.” She didn’t even look up and simply threw a strip of leather at his muzzle. It had a wide variety of teeth marks in it because it had been previously chewed upon. Disgusted by it, he hesitantly placed it between his teeth and clamped down on it.

She did more digging around his now reopened wounds. “Well, there are no fragments of claws in here, no sign of major muscle or tendon tearing.” She pressed her hand to the wound. It was an icy hand. She quietly mumbled something and a quick flash of greenish light came forth. His side stopped hurting almost entirely. “Had to make sure nothing broke off before I cast some substantial healing. Else I’d have to go digging in a healed wound and cause more damage.”

Falcher sat up again. This time, it was much easier and a lot less painful. “Thanks, doc.”

“Call me Tyra. I’m the chief medical officer for this refuge.” The satyr said. “Until Commander Therok gets back, you’ll be staying here.”

“With all due respect, Tyra, I have a task to complete and I need to get home,” Falcher countered.

“With all due respect, wolf…” Her pleasant demeanor changed into a grumpy scowl. “Until we know who you are, what you’re doing with werewolf claw marks on your side, and how you came into the possession of several massive books on Huma history, you’re staying here.”

“Simple. My master gave me a task to gather intel on Huma. I traveled here and figured a library was the best place to look. Unfortunately, I got startled and accidentally knocked over an oil lantern, causing the raging fire. I ran into the alleyways and got ambushed by a werewolf.”

Albeit quietly, she found it surprising that he was so willing to provide the information so freely. “Sounds like bullshit. A human dropped you off. While that explains the smoke we saw, that doesn’t justify your alibi. A brilliant ploy for Sura’s little minions, else an informant for Huma.”

“You can’t be this braindead, doc.” Falcher pressed his paw into his muzzle.

“Just for that, I ought to have you chained and silenced.” She took great offense to his comment and slammed a hoof down.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Do it, I dare you.”

She snapped her fingers.

Falcher moved swiftly, leaped, and tackled her to the ground, growling maliciously.

Brau jumped and threw himself at Falcher, knocking him off the doctor. “You’re making a big mistake!”

“I will not fail the Oakengrove!” Falcher recovered quickly, holding a position on all fours, and glanced around. The whole warehouse was staring at him and guards were running over as quickly as they could.

“Traitor…” she muttered. “He’s feral! Kill him!” She shouted.

He bolted off through the crowd and slammed through the front doors of the warehouse. The doors swung open wide with a loud slam and bounced off the building’s exterior walls with violent reverberation.

The noise and sudden blinding by outside light froze all the refuge’s inhabitants. With a moment to breathe, Falcher plotted out a path of escape and darted into the network of alleyways.

Looking back, he saw hundreds of beastfolk flee the scene, and on their tails were city guardsmen shouting and waving loud handbells. Within minutes, more city guardsmen rushed to the scene, heavily armed and armored. From the safety of the shadows of the alleyway, Falcher watched a brutal fight form and crumble into a slaughter.

An hour passed, and the guards had moved on to the chase, leaving behind a graveyard and an abandoned warehouse. Falcher, as stealthily as he could, ventured back to look for his items. He knew his time was limited and made haste. It only took a few minutes to find the “secure room” that Tyra mentioned. Someone had knocked aside the storage crates, revealing a door into a side room. The door swung open with a forceful kick. Falcher found Tyra sprawled on the floor, her face submerged in a pool of blood. “I’m sorry, doc,” he whispered.

The room looked to have been an armory as it held dozens of weapon racks and crates of arrows. Tossed into a corner with no respect, was his pair of rapiers, one of which was impaled in the books he’d stolen. He scrambled to gather his stuff, only to be stopped by a hand around his ankle. He slowly turned his head. Tyra was staring up at him, desperate.

Falcher shook his head. “I did what I needed to. I serve the Oakengrove and I mustn’t fail him.”

She tightened her grip. “Traitor,” she muttered, hastily drawing a knife from her boot and slashing at his leg.

Falcher howled in pain and jabbed a rapier through her skull. “Mother fucker!” Her grip weakened, and he kicked her hand away. He withdrew the blade and then stabbed her a few more times in the head, just to make sure she stayed dead. He recollected himself and looked back at the satyr. “She can still serve the grove.” He grabbed her combat knife and began cutting her head off.

As he made his way back into the alley, a noise froze him in place. “Falcher?” The voice sounded familiar.

“Gabriel, that you?”

Stepping forward was Gabriel with a worried smile. “I heard the bells and saw the guard chasing after more beastfolk. Came here to check on you but saw the place was raided and feared the worst.”

“I don’t go down that easily. However, I now have to get out of the city with haste. The longer I’m here, the more danger I am in.” Falcher explained. “What’s the fastest way out?”

“Through the city gates, but those are locked down, probably. My next bet would be through the sewer tunnels.” Gabriel said. “Just be careful. Sometimes wildlife hides in there.”

“They’ll be easier to dispatch than a swarm of guards.” Falcher retorted. “You coming along?”

“No, I get the feeling you’ll need me on the inside, plus I’m no fighter.” Gabriel held out his hand.

Falcher shook it. “Then it’s been a pleasure knowing you, Gabriel. See you on the flip side.”

The alleyway they were in fortunately had an access hole to the sewers. With some dedicated effort, they moved the manhole cover enough to squeeze Falcher in. As he looked up from down below, Gabriel smiled, waved, and closed the lid.

Having fled off into the night, Falcher darted down alleyways, narrowly avoiding running guards. The library fires occupied the entire city; it seemed. The further away he ventured, the fewer guards he saw. That library, as dusty as it was, was of considerable importance to the humans.

He remembered the fellow he’d met earlier that day. He said he was going to be down by the docks. However, this city was a massive frontier stronghold for Huma, a sprawling metropolis of nearly a million in size. Getting to the docks all while staying out of sight of the town guards was no easy feat.

He slowed down to a calm walk once he was a dozen city blocks away from the blazing inferno. He raised his snout and sniffed the air. It was still salty, which meant the docks weren’t too far away, but the choking odor of wood-burning smoke began wafting toward him. The flames hadn’t jumped buildings yet, or so it looked. The city garrison would likely be preoccupied with putting it out for a while. He had some time to breathe, even if only for a few minutes.

The alleyways were surprisingly empty. It seemed even the riff-raff had a ‘home’ of sorts to spend their nights. He now had free rein to travel throughout the city. He leaned out from around the corner of a building and peaked into the roadway. No guards were in sight, but there was someone just down the road, dressed in illusive black garbs, appearing as if blurred in perpetual motion despite standing still. Falcher squinted. “Illusion magic?”

Then suddenly, there was a knife pressed up against his back. A low growl sounded off from behind him. “An intelligent wolf-kin, tell me, furred one, what are you doing?”

Falcher slowly raised his hands and turned his head, getting only a glimpse of the man, or rather beast, behind him. It was more wolf-like than humanoid, deformed, and thinly haired. His eyes glanced towards the sky, a full moon. “That explains the growl…” he mumbled to himself.

“Answer my question. You with the city guard?” The werewolf impolitely asked.

“Let me counter you with the obvious. Do I look fucking human?” Falcher said, dropping his arms to his side. “Why on Oak’s green fields, would I, a wolf-kin, work with these dipshit humans?”

“Because you blew our plans before we were ready!” The werewolf growled.

“Plans? What plans?” Falcher slowly turned about, still very aware of the knife being pointed at him.

The werewolf took a step back, getting a better view of Falcher’s wolf-like features. “Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to say that. Well, guess I have to kill you.”

“I’d rather not. It would draw attention away from that fire and get us both into deep shit.” Falcher countered.

There was a sudden echoing of howls from all across the city, followed by alarm bells mere minutes later. The city was now awake and under attack.

The werewolf lowered his knife. “You’re coming with me now. I don’t have time to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be in this city any more than I have to be. I’m trying to get to the docks so I can get a boat out of here.”

“The docks are crawling with guards at night. You won’t make it. That said, I won’t let you leave, regardless.” The werewolf grabbed Falcher’s shirt collar.

Falcher bared his fangs, growling back. “Let go, you filth.” He unsheathed his claws and slashed at the werewolf. The creature let go and reeled back, holding the side of its jaw. Four deep claw marks drew blood from his jowls. “You fucked up”

Falcher drew his rapiers, tossing the books he was carrying to the ground. He took a formal fencing stance, pointing the tips of his blades at the werewolf. “Try me, beast. I serve the Oakengrove. I will not fail him.”

The beast readied himself for battle, baring his long claws out. This was personal. It charged forward and swiped at him.

Falcher stepped back, dodging the swipe and riposte with a flurry of jabs into the creature’s abdomen. It drew blood, but the werewolf didn’t flinch from it.

The werewolf leaped at him and pinned him to the ground, using its whole body to weigh down the more agile foe. It leaned in to rip at his neck, only to have its nose bitten clean through by Falcher’s sharp fangs instead. It howled in pain, giving Falcher a moment to break free from its grasp.

Falcher freed his right arm and punched upwards into the werewolf’s throat, knocking the wind out of it and sending it toppling onto its side. He scurried to his feet and picked up a rapier, pressing it against the werewolf’s throat. “I want no part in your qualms with this city. Raze it to the ground for all I care, but do not stop me from my mission.”

Caught up in a blind bloodlust, the werewolf ignored his request and swiped the blade aside, giving him another jump. Claws forward, the werewolf swiped across Falcher’s chest, slicing up his once fancy clothes. Warm blood dripped down through his fur.

Falcher responded with one long deep thrust of his blade into the creature’s side, having its sharp pointy tip come out the other end. With a hasty yank, the blade slid its way out, covered in blood. The werewolf shrieked with pain but showed no signs of weakness.

The creature took another swipe at him, catching his face with the back end of its claws, giving him only minor scratches on his face. It followed up with a down swipe of the other set of claws, gouging out his left arm.

Furious, Falcher ducked down and launched from his legs, pointing the rapier forward, piercing the creature’s chest. The blade broke off in the creature, but not without being redirected at an angle instead of forward. The metal never came out the other side, instead now remained lodged in it. “My blade!” Falcher exclaimed, distraught at his favorite sword now broken.

The beast howled with every movement as it caused the pointy blade to shift around inside its chest, poking everything with stinging pain. It reeled back, pressing its hand against the wound, trying to dig out the metal, unsuccessfully.

Falcher ran over to the knife, which the scuffle had kicked some feet away, picked it up, and threw it at the creature. The knife landed in its neck, killing its windpipe, and silencing its horrid screams. It fell over, barely able to breathe properly, slowly suffocating on its blood.

Falcher huffed, trying to catch his breath. “And fuck you for breaking my sword.” He gave a swift but heavy boot kick to the creature’s head, instantly breaking its neck and killing it. He threw down the hilt of his broken rapier. The noise had likely drawn attention to him and so he took a second glance out of the alley. The blurred figure was gone, probably running from the howling. There was still no sign of the city guards. He stepped out into the city street and took another look back. The intensity of the fire appeared to grow exponentially.

Upon a second glance at the surrounding buildings, he discovered that most of the city was constructed of wood, with only the ground floor predominantly made of cobblestone or stone masonry. The city was going to burn way worse than he feared. He needed to get out. He raised his nose, trying to sniff out the sea breeze, but it was faint compared to the stifling smell of smoke.

Just as he got his bearings, the flow of adrenaline stopped and the pain surged and overwhelmed his mind. He keeled over, smearing the blood across his chest, shirt, and arms. “This is bad. I won’t make it home in this condition.” Still, he had to make it to the docks. Perhaps the friend he made earlier in the day could help him.

He limply followed the faint scent of the ocean breeze for what felt like a good mile. The road came up to a T-intersection in which the crossroad overlooked the massive wooden dockyard below the bluff. The docks were sprawling, warehouses nearly everywhere, seafaring vessels sleepily creaking in the harbor. Not even the catwalk torches were lit. Nobody was awake at this hour. Falcher looked around and saw a set of stone stairs descending to the wooden docks. He walked over and down the steps as quietly as he could manage.

With almost divine luck, he bumped into his friend Gabriel as he rounded the stairs. Gabriel fell onto his rear, dropping his sack of looted goods. “Hey! Watch where you’re—” He paused, getting a glimpse of the face of the wounded figure in front of him. “Falcher?”

Falcher nodded and fell to one knee, grunting.

“The hell happened to you?” Gabriel got up and moved in to get a better look at Falcher’s wounds.

“Werewolves…” he grumbled.

“That explains the warning bells and the smoke.”

“Actually, the smoke—” Falcher coughed up some blood between words. “Was my fault.”

“We can worry about that later. You need a healer. Those wounds are going to be fatal if we can’t stop the bleeding. Now hold still.” Gabriel undid the cloth that was serving as the holding pouch for his ill-gotten foodstuffs. It was large enough to blanket Falcher’s chest and with enough rope to wrap around him twice. He tied it as tight as he could physically get it.

Falcher grunted from the constrictive nature of the makeshift bandage. “I didn’t know you were a doctor.”

“I’m not, but my sewing skills have multiple uses. Now, get up and lean on me,” Gabriel ordered, pulling Falcher up. As he did, the books Falcher was carrying fell out of his grasp.

“What is this?” Gabriel paused to glance at the books.

“The library, I’m sorry,” Falcher grunted out the words.

“At least you saved something. Come on, I know a safe house.”

The next morning, his eyes peeled themselves open. The room was dimly lit by dying candlelight. It was spacious and yet crowded. He tilted his head to the left. Another bed was beside him. They had made it cheaply by using an old traveler’s cot and a straw mattress, if one could call it a mattress.

Falcher tried to sit up, but pain shot up through all of his wounds. Splints and wraps mostly immobilized his left arm. “A hospital?” Falcher was confused. He took another glance around him. It was not a hospital. There were boxes everywhere with old and faded company logos on them, bags and bales of straw strewn about haphazardly. “Warehouse perhaps?” He mumbled.

He took a deep breath and forced himself upright. It hurt a lot. The constant burning pain nearly made him give up and stay down. Yet, now upright, he trudged through the pain and took a third glance around the warehouse. There were other people, a combination of races including ratons, a people of rat-kin whom he’d personally only ever heard about.

Around him were people with bandages covering varying limbs. This must be the place where they treat the outcasts for their wounds. His movement caught the eye of the raton nearest to him. “Yo, finally awake?”

Falcher grunted in acknowledgment, still flinching with each movement of his body.

“Brau’s the name, thieving is the game,” The male raton walked up beside his cot and held out a paw.

Getting an up-close look at him, the raton was creme colored, with a naked tail and paws. His fur was slicked back, showing yellowish eyes and a wide grin.

Falcher weakly lifted his arm and shook the Raton’s paw. “Where am I?”

“Welcome to medical barracks for the beastfolk rebellion,” Brau said.

“Rebellion? Here in Huma?” Falcher let out a wheezing cough. “Will that even work?”

The raton bobbed his head from side to side. “Dunno. It’s been around for a decade or so already, but that’s neither good nor bad.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“Not in this shape. You won’t make it past the city gates, much less through Sura’s forest.”

Falcher looked around. The books he stole from the library weren’t anywhere to be seen. “Where’s my books?”

“Dunno that either. You’ll have to ask the fella who dropped you off.”

“Gabriel? Where is he?”

“He left once the medical staff here took you in.”

“Damnit.” However, it also occurred to him that his swords were not present.

“I saw the chief medical officer walk off with your swords. Probably into secure storage, would be my guess.”

“How do you know so much yet so little at the same time?” The mixed tidbits of knowledge baffled Falcher.

“I know what I see. Simple as.”

Someone had taken notice of Falcher’s awakened state and hastily approached the makeshift medical bed. She was a very tall satyr with dirty blonde hair and white robes stained with old dried blood. She approached with an exhausted smile. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. You were in bad shape. How is your side feeling?”

“Sore and tender. Tell me, doc, where is my stuff?” Falcher questioned her with what fierce determination he could muster.

“Safe and secure. I will return your items to you once I determine you are medically capable and the commander gives the approval.” She explained.

“Commander? You mean the rebel leader?” Falcher raised a brow.

“Commander Barnabas Amsel Amidalus Therok.” She rattled off the name with a surprising degree of military formality.

Falcher paused. “Well, I’ll be damned. So where is he?”

“Out and about. When he’s ready, he will come to you. Now, in the meantime, lift that shirt. I need a second look at those claw marks.” She leaned over and pulled on Falcher’s shirt, revealing multiple scabbed-over claw marks on his side. She pressed a finger against the scars and dug a fingernail beneath it, ripping up part of the scab.

Falcher winced in pain and growled.

“Hush puppy.” She didn’t even look up and simply threw a strip of leather at his muzzle. It had a wide variety of teeth marks in it because it had been previously chewed upon. Disgusted by it, he hesitantly placed it between his teeth and clamped down on it.

She did more digging around his now reopened wounds. “Well, there are no fragments of claws in here, no sign of major muscle or tendon tearing.” She pressed her hand to the wound. It was an icy hand. She quietly mumbled something and a quick flash of greenish light came forth. His side stopped hurting almost entirely. “Had to make sure nothing broke off before I cast some substantial healing. Else I’d have to go digging in a healed wound and cause more damage.”

Falcher sat up again. This time, it was much easier and a lot less painful. “Thanks, doc.”

“Call me Tyra. I’m the chief medical officer for this refuge.” The satyr said. “Until Commander Therok gets back, you’ll be staying here.”

“With all due respect, Tyra, I have a task to complete and I need to get home,” Falcher countered.

“With all due respect, wolf…” Her pleasant demeanor changed into a grumpy scowl. “Until we know who you are, what you’re doing with werewolf claw marks on your side, and how you came into the possession of several massive books on Huma history, you’re staying here.”

“Simple. My master gave me a task to gather intel on Huma. I traveled here and figured a library was the best place to look. Unfortunately, I got startled and accidentally knocked over an oil lantern, causing the raging fire. I ran into the alleyways and got ambushed by a werewolf.”

Albeit quietly, she found it surprising that he was so willing to provide the information so freely. “Sounds like bullshit. A human dropped you off. While that explains the smoke we saw, that doesn’t justify your alibi. A brilliant ploy for Sura’s little minions, else an informant for Huma.”

“You can’t be this braindead, doc.” Falcher pressed his paw into his muzzle.

“Just for that, I ought to have you chained and silenced.” She took great offense to his comment and slammed a hoof down.

“Do it, I dare you.”

She snapped her fingers.

Falcher moved swiftly, leaped, and tackled her to the ground, growling maliciously.

Brau jumped and threw himself at Falcher, knocking him off the doctor. “You’re making a big mistake!”

“I will not fail the Oakengrove!” Falcher recovered quickly, holding a position on all fours, and glanced around. The whole warehouse was staring at him and guards were running over as quickly as they could.

“Traitor…” she muttered. “He’s feral! Kill him!” She shouted.

He bolted off through the crowd and slammed through the front doors of the warehouse. The doors swung open wide with a loud slam and bounced off the building’s exterior walls with violent reverberation.

The noise and sudden blinding by outside light froze all the refuge’s inhabitants. With a moment to breathe, Falcher plotted out a path of escape and darted into the network of alleyways.

Looking back, he saw hundreds of beastfolk flee the scene, and on their tails were city guardsmen shouting and waving loud handbells. Within minutes, more city guardsmen rushed to the scene, heavily armed and armored. From the safety of the shadows of the alleyway, Falcher watched a brutal fight form and crumble into a slaughter.

An hour passed, and the guards had moved on to the chase, leaving behind a graveyard and an abandoned warehouse. Falcher, as stealthily as he could, ventured back to look for his items. He knew his time was limited and made haste. It only took a few minutes to find the “secure room” that Tyra mentioned. Someone had knocked aside the storage crates, revealing a door into a side room. The door swung open with a forceful kick. Falcher found Tyra sprawled on the floor, her face submerged in a pool of blood. “I’m sorry, doc,” he whispered.

The room looked to have been an armory as it held dozens of weapon racks and crates of arrows. Tossed into a corner with no respect, was his pair of rapiers, one of which was impaled in the books he’d stolen. He scrambled to gather his stuff, only to be stopped by a hand around his ankle. He slowly turned his head. Tyra was staring up at him, desperate.

Falcher shook his head. “I did what I needed to. I serve the Oakengrove and I mustn’t fail him.”

She tightened her grip. “Traitor,” she muttered, hastily drawing a knife from her boot and slashing at his leg.

Falcher howled in pain and jabbed a rapier through her skull. “Mother fucker!” Her grip weakened, and he kicked her hand away. He withdrew the blade and then stabbed her a few more times in the head, just to make sure she stayed dead. He recollected himself and looked back at the satyr. “She can still serve the grove.” He grabbed her combat knife and began cutting her head off.

As he made his way back into the alley, a noise froze him in place. “Falcher?” The voice sounded familiar.

“Gabriel, that you?”

Stepping forward was Gabriel with a worried smile. “I heard the bells and saw the guard chasing after more beastfolk. Came here to check on you but saw the place was raided and feared the worst.”

“I don’t go down that easily. However, I now have to get out of the city with haste. The longer I’m here, the more danger I am in.” Falcher explained. “What’s the fastest way out?”

“Through the city gates, but those are locked down, probably. My next bet would be through the sewer tunnels.” Gabriel said. “Just be careful. Sometimes wildlife hides in there.”

“They’ll be easier to dispatch than a swarm of guards.” Falcher retorted. “You coming along?”

“No, I get the feeling you’ll need me on the inside, plus I’m no fighter.” Gabriel held out his hand.

Falcher shook it. “Then it’s been a pleasure knowing you, Gabriel. See you on the flip side.”

The alleyway they were in fortunately had an access hole to the sewers. With some dedicated effort, they moved the manhole cover enough to squeeze Falcher in. As he looked up from down below, Gabriel smiled, waved, and closed the lid.