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Long Walk Home

Stanrick Longfang

Stanrick had been wandering for days, it had been two weeks since he had split off from the rest of the Longfangs. Magrat and Yawn had headed off to the out post and he didn’t know where the others had gone off. He had decided to take the lone way home and see to it that the outlying villages knew of the now very real civil war. His leg had healed nicely but hurt still even more so before the rain. He had spent a week at a farm in a clearing that was home to some humans that went out to live on their own. What a sight it must have been for the farmer, a man named Gavros, seeing the blood soaked Ulven limp out of the woods at the time his wound had reopened and he had fought at least a dozen Mordok on his way. The man was kind enough to let him rest and repair his armor. His wife even washed the blood out of his tunic. All this in exchange for some help at the farm splitting wood. Now he was not far from home maybe a day or two, and he stopped keeping count of the Mordok he had killed, burning each one still not sure if they would get back up. Was it all a trick? He didn’t know what to think the walking dead had been on his mind a lot as of late, before they went their own ways Imara had told him about her experiences with the undead. The more he heard the more he respected the humans and syndar he called friend. Truly if this plague was removed from Gaia’s earth then the deeds would ring in the great wolfs ears. But this civil war was madness not all the humans were good but to declare an out right war on them was foolish. His blade had tasted the blood of Human, Mordok, Syndar, Undead, and now Ulven. In numbers that he cared not to keep track of, he hated it, the human syndar ulven part anyway. Killing Mordok was just part of life, and the dead needed to stay dead. But in his older age his thoughts now thought of the little farm, cows, chickens, maybe a few of them horses that the humans had brought over. He could grow tobacco and other crops. Hunt in the woods and fish off the stream. Only kill a few Mordok a week. The great wolf would not forget his deeds. He could see it now a small cabin a little barn, dead Mordok burning, using the ash in the fields, ash was great fertilizer. Maybe, one day, he would have his little home for him and his mate. But now he had other things to take care of, he saw the outpost miles away from the top of the hill. He could see his home.

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