Last night the little white chick slept like a rock, making Jeffrey very concerned.
However, feeling that the chick's heart was still beating, it was alright, probably.
Right now the little white chick was refusing to eat the wheat grain that Jeffrey presented to it, in fact, it seemed attracted to the Cockerel that Jeffrey was eating.
Isn't this cannibalism? Well, they aren't the same type of bird so it was alright, maybe.
Jeffrey didn't even care anymore. This chick wasn't like other chicks so anything abnormal it did should just be regarded as normal.
Giving the little white chick a bit of Cockerel, it struggled to tear through the tough flesh. Feeling bad for the little guy… or girl, Jeffrey shredded the Cockerel into smaller bite sized pieces for the little white chick.
The little white chick was elated and gobbled up the pieces very quickly, it even finished eating before Jeffrey and Jeffrey give it quite a bit of Cockerel.
Where was it fitting all that? The amount of Cockerel it ate was at least three times the size of its body mass.
"It's probably just hungry. There is nothing wrong with this chick." He reassured himself once more.
After finishing its meal it promptly slept. Again, Jeffrey checked its heartbeat to make sure it hadn't died.
Cutting up the leftover Cockerel for storage, Jeffrey heard a noise.
It came from outside and seemed to be of a galloping horse. But whose horse could it be? Jeffrey didn't have a horse anymore. Or could it be…
Had horsie returned?!
…
"This the place?" the scout leader glanced at their guide with a quizzical look.
"W-Well, it should be."
In front of them was a small house, surrounded by 4-foot tall cobblestone walls, a wooden fence and some small traps. In the distance, one could see the damage caused by the red dragon. The scorched fields and the skeletons of deceased livestock.
"Finally, gods damn him, how many traps does this bastard need?" The whiney scout had triggered quite a few traps on their journey to this very house. He'd better thank the stars that these were only the rodent traps and not the ones further out near the forest. That wouldn't be a pleasant sight.
As the scouts dismounted their hazel brown horses, the door to the house suddenly snapped open.
And at the doorway stood a black cloaked figure. He held a rope in one hand and the other held bloodied cleaver. His lower face was covered with black cloth, and he stood there…
Menacingly!
The third scout immediately drew his short sword sheathed by his right waist and got into a fighting stance waving the sword forward. He was left handed.
"Sacred stars! That must've been why he had so many traps!" The whiney scout shouted like he had an epiphany.
"Hey! Calm down you speds! Let me do the talking." the leader harshly whispered to the scouts, mainly the impulsive scout though.
After calming down his teammates, he looked back at the black cloaked figure. Judging by the physique it seemed to a man. He looked at the dark eyes of this figure. By all intents and purposes, the scout leader would 100% believe that this guy was a Dark Arts cultist just from his look alone. Not to mention the menacing vibe he was giving off.
The scout leader took in a deep breath and exhaled.
"Friend, would you like to tell me who you are?" completely forgetting that this guy was the one mentioned by their guide, the leader asked for the cloaked man's identity.
A few seconds went by with no words exchanged, the tension was getting to the leader. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face.
Dark Arts cultists were dangerous criminals. Capable of taking down a platoon of soldiers single handedly. They practised the "Dark Arts" as suggested by their calling, the Dark Arts were supernatural arts of which went against the laws of nature. It was an inhumane practice that destroyed the vitality of its targets, outlawed in the Moonshine Kingdom. Though other than this piece of information not much else was known about them besides the fact that it was rumoured that a neighbouring Nation was practising it in secret.
If this guy was a Dark Arts cultist and he angered him, it was safe to say that none of them would be leaving here… well not alive at least.
These thoughts spiralled inside the leaders head rapidly, then…
"Did you bring horsie?" the cloaked man said as he glanced at the three horses which stood nearby.
Was this some sort of code? What is horsie? Did he have any horsie!?
"Hahaha, if you clarify a bit I might be able to get you some horsie," his nervous laughter sounded very forced even to himself.
"Horsie is horsie," he pointed toward the three horses.
The scout leader felt like crying. He couldn't understand this guy at all!
Maybe practising all those Dark Arts impacted his cranium!?