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   Chapter 7 No.7

The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - A Werewolf in the Dark By AaronDennis Characters: 5552

Updated: 2017-12-29 12:02


"My horse, " Holden chuckled.

They then worked to secure the carcass to the saddle. It was big, the werewolf. Its head was nearly as big as Larson's torso just like an ordinary timber wolf. It was brown and gray with lanky arms and legs, and malevolent looking claws. It was only once Larson saw it under dying torchlight that he was truly aghast.

"Holy crap, " he exclaimed. "This thing had me in its clutches. I could have died!"

He looked himself over as Holden held his sides laughing. Larson did have some severe wounds in his shoulders, but he hadn't had the time to notice until then.

"You'll be okay. Just keep the wounds clean. No need to worry over lycanthropy, " Holden said, jovially.

"Lycanthropy? I'm bleeding!"

"It didn't bite you."

"Thank the Gods, " Larson heaved. "Now, I definitely want my cut!"

Holden had a belly laugh, but they finished securing the thing to Rabidous. "Let's head back to Barry's and try to finagle some free drinks. I'll buy you a horse once we get to Jonsburrough."

"Jonsburrough, " Larson snipped. "I have to get to Port Shau and find my brother."

Holden patted the young man's shoulder, and they ambled back towards Barry's. Inside the bar, it was desolate; Barry had obviously forced everyone out to get their sleep. He walked to the counter from a room behind the wall of booze.

"Gerancho, Mael, and Devloa, " the barkeep exclaimed. "You all right, Larson?" Before Larson answered, Barry went into a tirade. "You old, grizzled, war hound! How could you get this poor kid mixed up in your witch hunts? Look at him! He's black, and blue, and covered in blood. You're a good f

n enemy? They barely even glanced at the werewolf corpse on the horse's back, much less asked what it was.

Holden and Larson walked to the stables, and leading Rabidous by the reins, the old, hardened mercenary led them out of town, rounding it far to the east, and then began the rough journey north through Red Pines and towards Jonsburrough. I hope to find you well, brother.

"Sometimes you should voice your hopes and aspirations, Larson." Holden's voice had jolted him. Not only were his words unexpected, but so poignant, appropriate. "I can see your grief."

"I hope my brother's okay, " he answered.

"Let the world know."

Those words, Holden's words, stayed with Larson for the rest of life. It was a shocking fact, or perhaps Holden was a shocking individual. Larson wasn't able to pin down the man in him the way he was able to do so with his brother, the workers in Pallisade, the folks in Flotsam. The longer they journeyed through red barked pines, the more Larson saw how fit Holden was, how strong, eloquent, sentimental, intelligent; whenever he wasn't drunk out of his gourd.

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