Come evening, Azrael and the rest of the expedition found themselves once more homeward bound – though currently camped on the riverbank for the night. Beside him the slime was happily feasting on plant matter that littered the forest floor.

“You sure you want to keep that?” James asked, handing Azrael a hot skewer.

“It’s cute!” Azrael answered defensively, accepting his dinner.

James made a noncommittal sound, settling himself in beside Azrael. His greatsword was on the ground beside him. In fact, everyone in the party had their weapons close by. Though they hadn’t encountered any further troubles as they headed down river, everyone was tense when they were camped on unfamiliar ground.

Azrael shifted, moving a stick away that poked into his backside. After the night raid by the skeletons they had lost their bedrolls, their supplies and most of their cooking gear. Hunting was a good way to replenish their supplies, but they rarely stopped on shore long enough to hunt properly. Their supply of seasonings had also been lost to them, leaving whatever flavour they had in their meals to Kaira and her [Field Chef] class.

It meant that evenings were tense, food was bland and occasionally meagre. Coupled with the increased strain of now having to row back upstream, Azrael felt that it was more of a slog than an adventure now. Still, they made better progress than he had thought they would. Having strong dwarves and hunters man the oars made a big difference.

Finishing his last bite Azrael chucked the wooden skewer at the slime and rolled over to sleep. James likewise finished, but rose instead to take first watch. Azrael’s watch was in the early morning and he planned to get as much sleep as possible. If the hard forest floor allowed him too, that was. Eyes closed, he fell asleep to the sounds of fire crackling, hushed voices and an inquisitive slime exploring a skewer stick.

Morning came with the sound birdsong, as Azrael stood on watch. He and… uh… one of the villagers, whose name Azrael had either forgotten or never learnt, were on duty, though James’ snoring had probably scared off any creature that was in the vicinity. Somehow the dwarves slept through it, though Kaira and Rudy were awake and once more stoking the fire.

Suddenly Azrael felt an intense spike of almost wild panic surge through his link, sending him stumbling to his knees. Whatever Alena was feeling it was overwhelming, causing him to have a physical response. The panic redoubled, coupled by extreme feelings of hopelessness and fear. It was the kind of fear that paralysed, freezing the breath in his lungs.

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Then, they heard it – The roar.

It was far, far away, but the dragon’s roar still carried with it the threatening rumble of power and dominance. Azrael felt it resonate in his heart, even his mana responding. He wasn’t the only one. Kaira and Rudy froze. The dwarves woke, eyes wide in panic and James… James was somehow already awake, his sword gripped in both hand and its blade coated in a deadly pale blue light.

Hearts hammered, breaths were short and weapons were raised. For several minutes they stood there, still and silent like statues, before Azrael felt relief flood through Alena’s link, relieving much of his tension. He sent reassurance through the link, distant though she was. All he got in return was worry, gratitude and resolve. Whatever had happened it was most likely sudden and overwhelming, but she was alive. For now.

Azrael made a decision.

“To the boats. Now.”

Everyone scrambled to the boats, gathering what few items they had onshore. Kaira kicked dirt onto the fire that she had just stoked, but James simply froze it. Everyone rushed to the boats, setting out all oars. It was only by stroke of luck that Azrael remembered to pick up their newest crew member – the slime. He scooped up the gelatinous mass, throwing him into the barge, before helping push the large craft off the riverbank into the water. Despite the hurry that everyone was in it all seemed too slow to Azrael.

The feeling pervaded the rest of the day, although Azrael could see everyone doing their best. The pace was faster, the rests shorter and conversation was short or clipped. Still, it wasn’t enough. When one of the villagers that was manning one of the smaller boats began to flag and they had to slow to swap him over with a dwarf Azrael almost snapped. Slow. It was all too slow. He was restless. His mana was useless in speeding up the craft and all he could do was swap out as a spare rower.

Inside of him The Beast was equally restless, pacing in time with his heartbeats. Its home was under attack, Alena had been in danger and who knew what had happened to the rest of the villagers. The dragon had attacked the village and he hadn’t been there. Unfortunately, he wasn’t close enough for [Lord’s Domain]. While he was {Lord of the End Forest} and it was unbroken forest from the village to here, the system didn’t seem to acknowledge this section as under his control.

All in all Azrael found himself constantly tense. Tense, restless and extremely irritable. When they finally saw the great billows of smoke, what little veneer of control he had vanished. The entire horizon on their way home was covered in great billows of grey smoke.

Azrael addressed the expedition, exercising his right as Lord. His sentences were terse and clipped.

“James. With me. The rest of you, ditch the boats, ride the barge.”

All of them would fit into the barge and more oars would make them travel faster. It would also allow for two oar teams, so they could travel without needing to stop.

Azrael hopped off the boat, landing on the riverbank. James landed beside him with a heavy thud. Behind them the expedition regarded them with grim faces. Nobody said a word.

Azrael exhaled.

“Let’s move.”