On the horizon, one could have seen the moon making its way down past a mountain, becoming a sliver as it skimmed down the side. The bright white semi-circle shone upon the thick green canopy of a dense forest. One that was out of reach for many, and out of control for those in control. With animals untouched by the aid of ponies, weather moving on its own, and areas unexplored, this forest truly was free.

Around the laying body of a fully dressed biped, a flock of sparrows landed, and began poking and prodding at this new, mysterious creature. The being shifted greatly since the start of his annoying examination, along with the fact that his wrists currently held a burning sensation, but that was degrading quickly. With the astounding speed of a sloth, his torso rose up, and met the broken morning starlight, sending many birds away. The flock quickly took to the air, and shot around until it found an open spot in the branches, except one, single sparrow.

Yes, as Kestral's eyes opened to the darkness, he instantly noticed this one, single sparrow, sitting in front of him. Watching him. Taking in all his features. Staring into the man's eyes with its own black oculars. But before he could question anything, the bird hopped up to his closed hand, and began pecking at it furiously. He opened his hand and let the bird do whatever it was trying to do. It saw a piece of paper taped to his palm, and it attempted to push his hand over. It failed, so instead it just took a bit of aim, and pierced his palms flesh as hard as it could.

SWAT

What was that for?!

He batted away the bird in a moment of anger for it having stabbed him in the hand with its beak. When he took to examine his hand, he found something astounding. On the palm of his hand was a folded piece of paper!

The hell?

He ripped off and unfolded the parchment. The writing was in cursive, but it almost looked, for lack of a better word, bland. It was handwritten, definitely, but the style was so precise it seemed it wasn't possible for natural hand movement. The letters were exactly the same every instance, with no variation in height, length, or angle. Every line was the same thickness, and the whole message didn't even vary in its uniform look.

Move to the closest town.

Don't be seen.

You are needed.

All will be explained.

Check everything.

Leave nothing behind.

Kestral instantly looked around and quickly examined his surroundings. Even in the dark, he made out a lot of differences. The sleeping trees were replaced with thicker, shorter, and much more lively trees than he slept near last night. One could have even called it borderline jungle, given the few vines thrown about the place. The cold, dry air had given way to a cool nighttime temperature that one could find sometime in spring, and the humidity was high enough to feel the difference, but not be any less bearable.

"Okay, so someone is fucking with me now. Great.... but how did they move me while I was asleep?!"

He shook his head. Don't know- Doesn't matter. While ascending to a standing position, he decided to go along with line five and six of the cryptic message. Not that he needed to be told to keep track of his property, because he took care of that every time he started or stopped resting.

Let's see...

Combat-Boots? Check! They didn't magically slide off in the middle of the night this time.

Combat-Pants, as black as the night, with my black machete sheath on my calf via nylon strap? Check!

Actual machete in sheath? Check!

The glorious nylon belt of holding for such pants? Check!

Two holsters attached? Yup!

Guns in each? .357 on my right, and the (extremely) sawed-off shotgun on my left. Double check!

Jet black utility vest? Always. Rifle bullets in the bottom row of pockets? Yes! Cash and wallets in other pockets? Definitely.

Battle hardened combat knife in its sheath, near my left shoulder? Never leave without it.

Short-barreled bolt-action Ruger strapped to the right side of trench coat with several nylon straps? Yup. Stupid gun makes it hard to not sit awkwardly.

He checked the contents of his trench coat pockets, finding pistol bullets and shotgun shells in each side of the coat, filling box-shaped pockets. Alright. He re-buttoned his coat, and glided his hands across the sleeves for a moment as if to confirm it was real, which was mostly un-felt due to his gray, fingerless gloves. The coat was a bit special to him. It was his choice to wear every time he traveled in the cold. When he bought it, the tag had called it a "courier's winter trench wear", meant for "long walks in snowy, freezing weather". The Dark leather reached down past the top of his combat boots, and the large hood covered his head. It originally had a buccal-mask made of cloth to protect much of the face as well, but it was long since ripped out by a conniving tree branch Kestral walked into once.

When he was done checking his on-body items, he turned towards the ground to find both of his bags at the end of a skid mark in the dirt, caked in dust. His backpack was opened and his universal gun cleaning kit was laying next to it, though nothing else appeared to have been ejected from the pack. He grasped the two items and packed the kit again, before dusting off the bag. He then grabbed his satchel and cleaned it as well.

With all his things in check, Kestral took a moment to decide what to do next, regarding the note. Whoever moved him obviously wasn't with police or of that sort, else he'd have woken in a jail cell. If he wanted Kestral dead, he'd have killed him instead of moving him, so whoever this was, had some sort of intentions that were completely unclear to Kestral.

Not only that, but if he really was moved into an unknown area, he'd have nothing to go on as for his actual location. For all he knew, he was now in a national forest or of the likes. He'd wished he had bought a compass when he had the chance, so he could tell where the cardinal directions were without waiting for the sun to show.

With not much to go on, he looked toward the bird that dug into his hand, which was now regarding Kestral with a curious gaze from the low branch of a nearby tree.

“Don't suppose you have an answer to where I should head.”

Almost as if those words were some kind of signal to the bird, it hopped down right in front of him, looked him straight in the eye, and started hopping down a straight line, somewhere off to his right. When it reached a certain distance, it looked back at him expectantly, as if it were waiting for a child.

“Uhh...” Kestral took a step toward the bird. As he did, it hopped about another foot, and waited again, just as patiently as a moment before. He wasn't sure how to take it, but he thought of a reasonable excuse nonetheless. “Alright, fine. Whoever left the note must have trained you.” He hesitantly began walking in the birds direction. “Take me to this town, wherever the hell it is.”

And so it did. With each step Kestral took, the sparrow matched the same distance in a hop or two. It didn't even try flying. It just bounced its way forward, without a care in the world.

“Well this'll be jovial.”

As he set forth on his unknown journey, he failed to realize that he had left a critical piece of technology behind.

A single brass casing with a copper colored bullet held in its end laid on the ground. One of the sparrows eyed it curiously before gliding down to it from above. It poked and prodded it several times before it made a single, determined thought.

Master will love shiny!

It eagerly grabbed the shell and made a speedy ascent, dodging all the branches and leaves, and burst off toward a distance location.

It had been two hours since he had started that walk, and Kestral was beginning to get a bit hungry. He had drank his last water bottle, but instead of throwing it into a bush, he kept it in his satchel, in case he found a good water supply. His food was limited to say the least. Since eating his sandwich the night before, he was down to his emergency food, A rather plentiful pile of beef jerky. He would rather not make a meal of them all, since they last a good while in their package.

At that moment, he was casually chewing on a piece of jerky, making the taste last as long as he could, while contemplating how he should go about finding his next meal. He could just last off the jerky for a while, until he had reached his destination, and then either ask or buy food from there. That option would prove unpredictable, however, given he didn't even know where he was going.

Hunting food seemed to be his only other option, given that Kestral has proven to himself just how much skill he lacks in finding edible berries. Last time he ate some wild berries, they gave him a much less comfortable time in the woods. However, it would prove another problem. Gunshots would be very dangerous if he set them off near the wrong area or people. Unless he found a pillow out there in the wilderness, intact, then there wasn't going to be any silencing his rifle. Using a knife is something he'd be able to do, if he could sneak up on his prey.

Times like this make me wish I could have brought my bow.

Kestral looked around his surroundings. The forest was much brighter now that the sun was rising from behind him, even with the heavy greenery blocking out much of the light. A couple birds would fly around him, though none that stayed any longer than a jiffy.

Out of sheer boredom, he had pulled out his machete from its sheath on his right leg, and was tossing it from one hand to the other, and back again. By then, he had gotten pretty good at his reflexes when catching it. Not any better than an amateur blades-man, but he had definite improvement from the nearly daily practice. He could make it twist in the air and catch it backwards, then twirl it around in his fingers. By now, he was getting ballsy enough to try and catch it by the blade.

SHINK -Which then resulted in another cut along his fingerless glove. Dang, gunna need to replace these soon at this rate.

As Kestral picked the blade up from the ground, he decided to stop screwing around with it and placed it back in its sheath. Straightening his back again, his placed his hand on his left hip to undo the fixture holding his bless-ed double-barrel shotgun. With the ripping of Velcro, he whipped out his boom-stick and took in the beautiful sight.

The barrel was far below what was legal for him, at only about a foot length, give or take an inch, and the stock was mostly cut off as well. He broke over the side-to-side barrels and looked to ensure it was loaded. When he saw the two brass-colored shells there, he took one out to remind himself of what exactly he had loaded into the gun in the first place.

The shell was a standard 12-gauge buckshot, except for one vital difference. A cut was made along the middle, going all the way around where a little bit of overlap could be seen with about an eighth of an inch in between. This little difference caused any buckshot to shoot the same as a slug, by catching part of the shell along with the shot. It typically wasn't great for pump or automatic shotguns, as they can possibly cause a jam in the loading mechanism. It was great for buying just buckshot in bulk and being able to turn it into a slug at will; That way, Kestral would never run out of one and be forced to use the other.

He placed the shell back in and flipped the barrel back into its ready position. His fingers laid softly next to the two triggers that patiently awaited his command. While still following the sparrow, he casually aimed it toward the ground in front of him. To him, the situation is already quite weird, and he could only guess something was bound to happen.

The nimble cat raced from tree to tree, doing its best to get ahead of its newly found game without its notice. The jet black fur of the feline made it difficult to stay hidden after twilight hours. With every step came the careful calculation of the next by the ferocious predator. Its paws struck the earth many times without a single sound, only proving its cunning and skill.

The cat made low movements when needed, in order not to be seen by the prey whenever it looked back at the strange creature that casually followed it. The cat slowly made its way toward the hopping bird. It drew the claws it was so used to using since its first release into the true freedom of the forest. They had only grown sharper since their first use, and by now are deadly weapons to be feared.

The wild feline poked its head from a tree and awaited its prey with a piercing gaze.

Kestral continued his path, one that he already found to be quite tedious. Over two hours and just about nothing had happened. The forest had thinned out marginally, meaning the vine coverage was lessened, but all else was the same.

Mostly he had been trying to entertain himself with thoughts on the next Halloween coming up, wondering just how many bags of candy he can nab, along with thoughts on how he will look completely inconspicuous that night with his getup.

Thoughts on delicious candy bars were floating around his mind when he heard a bloodthirsty 'meow' come from a nearby tree.

With the speed of its inner cheetah, a black cat pounced atop the pseudo-guide-bird and began clawing it limb from limb. Kestral ran up to it and kicked the cat as one would a football, but it was too late. As the would-be predator flew away into the foliage, the poor, little sparrow laid on the ground, feathers strewn about, breathing its final breaths.

It maneuvered itself around, trying to force itself up, but without any good result. It then quit attempting to avoid the inevitable, and relaxed to its side, making it seem a little more at ease with the situation. With its chest lowering slowly, and blood draining out its body, it looked at Kestral with a gaze of worry and unfulfillment, with only a glint...a small, flickering flame of hope that there lay something beyond, something more than the enclosing chill it felt running along its exposed skin.

It hoped for a final goodbye before the darkness arrived, but there it was; Death spread its wings, leading the glint of hope through an eternal darkness, using the path that only blind faith may see.

Kestral shook his head as he stepped towards the same direction the late bird was leading. “Stupid bird, you weren't supposed to die on me. Now how am I going to find your owner?” He asked, almost apathetic to its demise.

Nothing more than an angered cat answered him with its trademarked 'meow' and all its predation.

Kestral whipped out his revolver, placed the shotgun back, and quickly checked the contents of bullets before taking aim at the jet black cat. A small amount of apathy gave way to vengeance as he savored those few seconds. With a speedy pull of the trigger, the copper-covered bullet burst its way forward and hit a mass of flesh, weakening the animal it hit until said animal crumpled to the ground in pain.

The animal he hit, however, was not the cat. It was a large mass of wooden flesh, shaped in a way that he could only identify as 'canine'.

“What the shit?” He asked himself.

The pseudo-wolf laid in pain from the bullet wound now in its front leg. The cat was dead within its maw, but the eyes of the beast gathered Kestral's attention. They were glowing, at least from what he could tell. He really wasn't sure what he was looking at. It was quite a sight to him, but he found it more weird than interesting. Its eyes flickered between open and closed until they finally rested on a nearly lidded, almost distant look.

Nailed it just above the front leg. Must have torn up the heart.

Before he could contemplate it further, he heard a growling sound off to his left. When he looked, he saw at least two other pairs of eyes that matched the carcass in front of himself.

“Chert.” He immediately checked his surroundings to find anyplace useful. Seeing a good opportunity, he sprinted to a tree and sprung himself up. He grasped where he could and speedily ascended. He went from the lowest split in the old oak tree to the next one up, helping him stay out of reach in the event a wolf jumped up. Hand still on his revolver, he faced his body where he got up and readied himself mentally.

Almost as he predicted it, the two wolves skulked their way to a position under Kestral's new hiding place. The two pairs of slightly glowing eyes stared at him in a hungry manner, planning a new strategy to get their target. The one closest to the tree jumped up in an attempt to get its new game, but failed to reach high enough to get up.

When repeated attempts to get up resulted in nothing, the dog made way for its friend. The canine leaped up and landed halfway in the nook of the tree, making it difficult to climb further. It pressed its hind legs against the tree, but without result. It was stuck.

Kestral used this to his advantage. With barely a thought, he jumped down onto the wolf, landing one foot on its head, and the other on its spine. This didn't go according to plan, however, as the wolf only howled as a response, instead of having its vital nervous system split or it organs crushed.

Instead of wasting a good bullet, Kestral threw his revolver into his left hand, and went for the machete placed on his leg. After getting a firm grip, he pulled it out and angled his body before he plunged the blade into the canine. The dog let out a whimper for a second, before going limp and completely silent.

As he pulled the weapon out, he focused again on the wolf that failed to jump, it being the last one. As he did, he readied both his revolver and machete, one in each hand. The dog quickly realized the fact that its teammates were dead, and took in its options.

The canine looked at the beast before it. The strange bipedal creature had slain two of its brothers mercilessly before its very eyes. The dog cowered at each of the metal items in the bipeds appendages. It began to back away from the tall creature, slowly, then sped up and ran off with haste. Survival was the only thing on its mind. A lone wolf was a dead wolf, so it had retreated towards the safety of its brethren, somewhere in the dark forest, a ways away.

Kestral watched as the wolf of wood burst off into the brush, leaving Kestral all alone again. He looked down at the carcass he stood upon with some curiosity. He had no idea what it was he just killed two of, but he didn't want to wait for more to show up. While he jumped down from the tree, he thanked whatever god was watching for not having run into a large hunting party.

He walked over to the first wolf shot, and knelt down to get a closer look. Chips and chunks of bark seemed to layer all over the canine, with smooth but natural texture on the surface. As he dug his fingers around, he realized that there was an oddity about it. He pressed his fingers against the bullet-wound and a sort of green-red liquid pushed out. Kestral stood up again, shaking his head.

He had heard of ghost stories, monster sightings, tales of myths new and old, but he didn't know what to make in front of him. All he could know for certain was one thing:

Something is seriously fucked up around here.

Wherever he was the day before, he wasn't then. Something had happened, and it was making him a little bit antsy to figure out what was going on. He had thought over his options, and concluded with the idea that this incident probably had to do with whoever was screwing with him. Only time would tell if this guy knew anything.

Before Kestral went anywhere, there was something he wanted to take care of first. He took out his machete again, and placed it on the neck of the wolf in front of him. With a clean swing, he took off the head, causing a large amount of blood to drain out. He grabbed it by the ear, which was rather strong, and pulled it up to his side.

Cutting off the head of a coyote and setting it somewhere would keep more coyotes from coming too close, supposedly. Since coyotes and wolfs are both canine, he thought it may work the same way. It was something worth trying out, at least, for him.

With his free hand, he placed the blade back in its sheath, and did the same with the revolver. He looked at some of the miniscule glints of sunlight coming from the east. Remembering it coming from behind him prior to the encounter, he set off westward to find this mysterious bird-owner, and to find out what was going on.

Mr. Peddling was not atypical for a pony his age. His coat was somewhere between a tan and a cream color. His mane, dyed a dark chocolate, was slicked back, giving him a no-funny-business look about him. The tuft of hair at his hooves, like nearly all ponies at the time, was grown out to hide the hooves, except for the shining horseshoes he wore, which could seem quite worn by then.

The lone, red tie around his neck felt a little loose, but he could fix that at another time. It was nearly noon, and he wanted to get his shop set up in this town before day's end. It didn't occur to him how long a walk from one side of the Everfree to the other would take.

He looked back at his cart again, ensuring the weight he was pulling was actual goods, and not just his heightening age. Particularly, he stared for a small while at the wobbly wheel at the side, looking like it could break off if not taken care of soon.

Hmm. Maybe I can get somepony to buy this piece of crap? He thought to himself. He smirked, it wouldn't be the first nor last time he ripped off somepony. Most of the 'trinkets' and 'ornaments' he was selling was hoof-crafted, first-rate junk. A bit of his stock was legitimate, if only to help sell off the fake goods by making him seem more real.

He looked back to his front, focusing more on his imagination than anything. He knew the girls in his herd really didn't like his shady way of dealing like this, but it was good money, and they needed that. He could even imagine his head mare, Rosemane, coming up to him after dinner, telling how she thought it simply wasn't like him to be like that. Then he would kiss her on the lips, slowly.

And, oh, how passionate that kiss was! He would pull her into the bedroom, a few steps at a time. Each step kissing her again, whispering his love to her, how much she means to him. He would then work his way down and back with each kiss on her body. Nudging her into the bed, he'd then work his way from her chest to her-

CRACK

Suddenly he felt his body fall some to the right side. The pony shot his head back at the sound behind him. In a swift movement, he unhitched himself and went around to the side of his cart, observing the damage. The wheel that was wobbling earlier had hit a hole in the dirt, and the axle-tip had snapped off from the leveraged force acting on it, bringing the wheel with it.

“Naw sheee-it.” He huffed. This simply caused a number of problems. Mostly, he was worried most about if this would set him back a day on setting up the vending booth. He looked at down the path he was heading through. He gave himself an idea. “Well, it shouldn't be that far by now. If I hurry, I can get this thing fixed and at the market 'for noon!”

With nearly tangible confidence, he raced onward, trusting that nothing would happen to his things...

Kestral walked...again, through the forest, but with considerably more purpose in his footsteps. He felt the need to find out what had happened to him until that point, and by finding that bird-owner he hoped to do just that. He pressed westward, hoping to at least find a clue of his location beyond 'I’m in a friggen forest'.

He hadn't come across any more of those pseudo-wood-wolves, as he had then begun to call them, but he could not tell if it was the skull he carried or simple coincidence that he didn't. Regardless, he had pressed on, impatient for a revelation until he had come up to a dirt road.

Skull still held tightly, he took in the scene before him. It was nothing special, just a regular, worn, dirt road. The trees gave way a small bit over the road, letting in extra light, which several shrubs were absorbing greedily along the treeline. What caught his eye was a wooden cart, lopsided and broken, several meters up the path. It looked as if it had been abandoned, given a lack of men around it trying to fix it up, or a horse to pull it. For a moment, he began to wonder if he had stumbled upon the land of the Amish.

He approached the device with a bit of curiosity. It looked small, simple as that. At its full, regular height, it could not possibly be higher than his stomach. To him it was just not usual for a horse to only pull something so small. Perhaps it was a handcart? No matter to him. Instead of caring about the details of the cart before him, he decided to care about contents, to find anything useful.

Kestral placed his hand under the tarp that covered the device, and forced up. He failed, and quickly realized that the whole thing was hooked on the outside. After lifting the rings off several hooks, he threw the corner over and peered inside.

Most of what he saw was useless craps. Nick-knacks and trinkets were piled high on the far side, while a few bags were sitting in the almost vacant near side. Before he did anything with them, he checked around again, just to make sure no-one was looking. When he felt the coast was clear, he grabbed the nearest of the three bags that were sitting there and dumped the contents onto the wooden bed of the cart.

Several gold coins fell out, looking oddly similar to gold dollars of U.S. Currency. But, he caught on that they weren't, since they were much thicker than any U.S. Money he has seen before. He grabbed one and observed it. On the front was a half moon and half sun on the whole side. Turning it around, he could see some unknown writing spelling out along the top, along with a word at the bottom and the number '1'.

He didn't really know what he was looking at, but by the presence of the Arabic number '1', he guessed that it was a form of money. Maybe a rare Indian artifact. If so, it was in damn good condition. Ought to sell well.

He put the dumped coins back in the bag and took the bag with him, seeing not much else being of use, and he thought one bag would be plenty to sell. He pulled the tarp back over and walked around. He pressed around until he was just deep enough into the woods to barely see the road, then marched parallel to it.

Not actually knowing his way around this area, he decided to move along the dirt path until he came across a major road.

Mr. Peddling arrived back at his cart soon enough, with two strong mares towing their own cart full of supplies. As he trotted up to his things, he noticed the hooks were undone but left at the side, so he assumed it was just another faulty device of his somehow. He quickly got a bag out and gave the needed payment for the repair, leaving not much left. When the needed money was procured he set the bag back under the tarp without looking and went along watching the young ladies work away on those repairs.

It was then that he realized something. Didn't he have three bags? He had only seen two, but maybe that was just his mind slipping. He shook his head. Perhaps he'd check again later, but right then he just needed that wheel fixed.

Kestral moved along the road, still. He could have sworn he had seen candy-colored....something.... run down the road toward the broken cart. He hadn't gotten a good view through the bush he ducked down behind.

Whatever. He thought, as he continued onward. The trees were losing their thickness quickly. The vines were nearly gone, and the canopy was opening up more. A whiff of fresh air brought a new smell. Lavender and Rose came to his mind, but only marginally, as the smell of ripe grass made its way around him. He was able to walk right up to the edge of whatever forest lay behind him, and see a small empty plain, full of grass and flowers.

Beyond that lay a town. One that looked like it was a large medieval village. Straw rooftops dotted the area, with large parts being entirely made of them. Way off to the side, large barns could be seem, presumably for farms. Several less identical buildings were scattered around, but Kestral could not be sure of their purpose yet. An awful lot of birds were flying about it. Big ones, too.

Damn large settlement if it is the Amish.

If Kestral had done his homework, he'd have known that the Amish were well past thatched houses in terms of technology. But he didn't, so he was as oblivious to real Amish life as an Irishman to an empty beer glass. The detail mattered little, because as soon as he had taken a small step towards the place, he heard flapping sound come at him.

As he looked at the source above him, he spotted another sparrow. The little bird dropped down in Kestral's face, with some sort of paper in its beak. Not long after, it dropped the parchment onto Kestral's chest, before flying onto a nearby branch. Kestral sighed as he grabbed the paper. It was quite a surprise to him that this bird trainer found him twice already. He unrolled the piece of paper and began reading the contents.

Dear Kestral...

“Oh crap, he knows my name too.”

… I ask that you take this letter with utmost seriousness. First, do not go into that town until dusk. Many that reside within these lands have never seen a human and fear them greatly. I chose you because you are able to abide to such discretion.

Now, onto the true matter at hand. What I am asking from you is very serious. I need you to help me stop a threat that I have very little capability in stopping myself at this time. I opted to not use the local...resources, because those that are able, would not be willing. Too many are brainwashed into believing that an event like this could not happen again so soon, and others that know me would not or do not believe in the threat I perceive.

There are a great number of tasks that I need done, and you are one of the only tools at my disposal. It is imperative that you do not get caught or killed. We shall discuss more very soon, my new friend. I left a small gift for you to help you out a bit.

Take care.

P.S.

You got a bird of mine killed. Follow this one instead, pStalkers Koverti.

Kestral wadded up the paper and stuck it in one of his many pockets. He had little idea what was going on, but he could tell that he may have fell into a rabbit hole. Looking around, he spotted the bird up in the tree again. The beautiful little sparrow, with its an off-white breast, and dark, woodland wings, sat contentedly next to a small, open, cardboard box precariously balanced on a branch.

Upon Kestral spotting the box, the bird took it as a queue and jumped toward the box, smashing its face into the side. Said item toppled down, spilling its contents onto the ground. Kestral watched the whole thing rather passively, before looking at the bird in the noon sun. It sat rather lopsided, but still content nonetheless.

Alright, I guess this is that 'gift'. I wonder what it could be.

He walked over to it, and filtered through the items on the ground. One was a black piece of metal shaped into a rough 'y', with another piece that swivels around and stops about 90 degrees from the other side of the other piece.

Hmm. A slingshot? Why would he give me the bane of house windows?

He kept going through, the next item he snatched was a small black box, with bold letters stamped on the top reading '3/8th inch steel balls: 70 count'. He popped open the box and emptied it in one of his smaller pockets on his vest. He could at least appreciate being given quality ammo, even if he didn't know what for, yet. He grabbed the box and checked to see if anything else was meant for him. When nothing caught his eye he dropped the box and leaned up against the tree it was setting in not a minute ago.

He pondered the words written on that paper, and truly started to take in what he had read. The part that concerned him the most, was saying that none in the town before his eyes had seen a human. Either he was dealing with a nutjob, who can track Kestral down with birds, and move his body whist he is asleep, or he was in a very serious situation concerning his own sanity. On top of that, the population was supposedly inhospitable towards humans, the area is completely unknown to him, and there are wolves covered in freaking wood armor for no apparent reason.

So far, everything just keeps going south.

“Oh well, it's probably not like I just walked into a world of sun-worshiping pagans bent on catching and killing me. Right?”

He looked at the bird, watching it get anxious all of a sudden.

“Never mind, just don't die on me like the last one.”

Kestral would later regret those statements.

Author's Notes:

Черт--

Still not sure if that's the right word, but hell, I only speak 3 words of russian, so i may as well trust google translator, right?

Feel free to correct me if I get any foreign vocabulary wrong.