It was the zenith of twilight; the flickers of shadows and flames stirred Kirr awake within his hut he'd fashioned out of leaves, mud, and stone. Holding enough room for barely two.
"Sir." A guardsman whispered with a trimmer in his voice, frightened by the monster in the dark. "Sir. You must wake. I've news. Sir."
"There'd better be someone dead.", barked Kirr, opening his foggy eyes, reminiscent of the dreams he once held.
"We found Brad and Rick. Their heads were severed in a single blow. It's a fucken mess out there. We need—"
"What," Kirr said hard. Any sort of drowsiness was gone. He rose like a coming storm. His scarred flesh, tattered and cracked, appearing as though hounds had once ravaged it, flashed through the guardsman's naked eyes.
"When was this?"
"Based on decomposition. Sixteen hours ago." Said the guardsman.
