"Could you tell me why you're standing here? No obligation to answer, sir." Glen pressed gently, sensing the man's taciturn nature.
He expected silence. Instead, a low, gravelly voice replied:
"Debating whether to save her. If I do, I must return to Dud for a clinic. If not... it feels wrong."
"Ah..." Surprised by the moral quandary, Glen paused. "Perhaps I can help. Carry these to my home, and I'll take her to the clinic. Agreed?"
After a brief silence, the man nodded.
Glen extended a hand. "Glen Nebankru."
No need to cling to Dylan's name now.
The man gripped his hand slowly.
"Raven Crow."
Raven Crow? A name or title? Glen masked his bewilderment.
He described his home's location and key hiding spot—unfazed by potential theft.
Nothing valuable remains. And a man conflicted over saving a stranger isn't a thief.
Besides, Raven Crow's scent was already etched into his lupine memory.
Once Raven Crow accepted the parcels, Glen examined the woman in the weeds.
Fifties. Streaks of gray in her hair. Deep wrinkles. Simple clothes—a laborer's wear.
Blood crusted her lips. Bruises mottled her arms—blunt force trauma. Ragged cuts on her dress suggested shallow stab wounds. Non-fatal, but urgent.
After basic first aid, Glen lifted her onto his back.
"I'll go ahead. Remember the delivery, Mr. Raven Crow."
The man vanished into the shadows as Glen trudged toward Dud.
Layla parted ways with her friends, her usual route home tinged with unease.
The sight that greeted her froze her blood.
Shattered furniture. Overturned cabinets. A home ransacked.
But the true horror cut deeper: her mother was gone.
"Mother! Where are you? God! Keep her safe!"
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tore through empty rooms.
Desperate, she raced outside. Neighbors' doors remained shut—until Mrs. Mann, opposite, emerged.
"Dear child," the woman whispered, beckoning. "Bob returned. Drunk. He beat Delia... then chased her that way."
Father!? Layla's heart seized.
She hitched her skirt and sprinted toward the woods.
Carrying 50 kilos over rough terrain barely strained Glen's reforged body. The clinic stood closer than it felt—three kilometers, not ten.
Nurses hauled the woman inside a cramped private clinic. Three doctors hovered nearby. One approached Glen:
"Are you family?"
"A passerby," Glen clarified.
"Will you cover her fees?"
"I've no coin. She'll pay when conscious."
The doctor sighed. "Very well."
Glen lingered. Best wait for her to wake.
Minutes later, a voice called: "She's awake!"
Glen turned to leave—
—as a whirlwind of tears and linen burst through the door. Layla grasped his sleeve, gasping:
"Sir! Did you bring an injured woman here? Please!"
Layla? Here? Glen nodded mutely.
In a town where everyone knew half their neighbors, a blood-soaked stranger carrying a dying woman did draw eyes. Layla's frantic search ended when a baker pointed her toward the clinic.
She tore into the treatment room.
"Mother...!"
The cry tore from her throat as she collapsed beside the bed.
"My brave girl..." The woman clutched Layla, their tears mingling.
Outside, Glen watched impassively with the medical staff.
"Such tenderness!" a nurse wept.
"A miracle," another agreed.
Only Glen's expression remained analytical.
Stunning eyes. Sculpted nose. No wonder Dylan memorized her name.
Layla steadied herself and approached Glen. Red-rimmed eyes met his as she bowed.
"Thank you. Truly. Without you... I can't imagine... May I call at your home to repay you? Please."
Thank Raven Crow, not me. But explaining felt tedious.
My home? You'd flee screaming. Yet refusal would only provoke persistence.
"Byrek Town. Enter the main gate. Walk until you see a villa and a three-story house. Mine's wedged between."
The beasts can shadow her. She'll be safe.
Joy lit Layla's face. She bowed again.
"You're kindness itself, sir."
If only you knew, Glen mused darkly.
"Byrek Town?"
Doctors exchanged puzzled glances. The name meant nothing here.
"A remote place," Glen dismissed, already striding away.
Two towns this close? Someone will guide her.