Glen studied the man who stood silent as stone, cautiously advancing half a step. The forest wind swept across his sweat-dampened neck, carrying the metallic tang of blood.
"Might you tell me why you linger here, sir?" He paused, allowing space for refusal. "No offense taken if you'd rather not answer."
The shadowed figure stirred. Glen heard the soft rasp of leather, followed by a voice rough as gravel: "I'm weighing whether to save her. If I do, I'll have to carry her back to Dudde to find a clinic. If I don't..." His words sank into momentary silence. "It feels wrong."
Glen glanced toward the huddled form in the undergrowth. The answer surprised him. "Perhaps I could share the burden," he offered. "If you'd carry these supplies to my dwelling, I could see this... lady to medical care."
The man's gaze pressed against Glen's shoulders like a physical weight. After no more than a few breaths, he nodded curtly.
Glen's lips curved slightly as he extended his hand. "Glen Nibanckru." He offered the name, resolved to sever all ties to his predecessor's social web. The name rolled smoothly off the tongue in the local language—perfectly suited to his needs.
The man studied the outstretched palm before finally clasping it. His calluses felt hard as armor plates. "Black Crow," he said in a low voice.
A strange name. Glen suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow, keeping his expression neutral. He openly shared his dwelling's location and where the key lay hidden, unconcerned about inviting a wolf into his home—the place held nothing of value, and Black Crow's hesitation to rescue the woman revealed a certain blunt honesty. More importantly, his werewolf senses had already memorized the man's scent; tracking him would be child's play.
Once Black Crow shouldered the supplies, Glen immediately knelt to examine the victim. The woman curled among the weeds appeared around fifty, silver threads weaving through her hair, deep lines carved across her weather-beaten face. Rough cloth garments marked her as common-born. Dark blood crusted her lips, bruises crisscrossed her arms—clear signs of repeated blunt force trauma. Several knife wounds had torn her clothing, though fortunately they barely pierced flesh, posing no immediate threat to life.
After roughly treating her wounds, Glen hoisted her onto his back. The woman's faint breath tickled his neck. "I'll go ahead, Mr. Black Crow," he told the man standing statue-still. "Don't forget my things."
The other nodded, turning to vanish into the forest shadows. Glen adjusted his burden's position and strode toward Dudde Town.
...
Leyla still wore traces of laughter when she bid farewell to her companions. That lightness shattered the moment she pushed open her door.
Home was no longer home. Furniture lay toppled as if ravaged by a hurricane, scattered fragments carpeting the floor. In the deathly quiet, only dust motes danced in slanting light.
"Mother?" The trembling word bounced off empty walls. Panic drove ice picks into her chest. "Mama! Where are you?" She rummaged through the wreckage, tears blurring her vision. "Merciful gods... please don't let anything happen to her..."
The cramped dwelling could hide no one. Leyla burst into the street, nails digging deep crescents into her palms.
Mrs. Manta from across the way opened her door at the sound, worry creasing her brow. "Poor child..." She beckoned Leyla closer, voice kept soft and low. "Bob came back. He'd drunk himself stupid on rotgut liquor, roughed up Mrs. Delry in your house... I saw him chasing her toward that way." Her gnarled finger trembled as it pointed toward the alley's end.
Father? Leyla's heart contracted to ice. That madman was capable of any atrocity! She barely managed a word of thanks before her simple dress billowed in the wind as she sprinted in the indicated direction.
...
Carrying a hundred-pound burden across several miles posed no challenge to Glen's current form. When the town walls emerged from the twilight, the victim's breathing still whispered intermittently past his ear.
After several inquiries, he finally kicked open the door of a private clinic. The sharp smell of antiseptic struck him immediately. Three physicians and two nurses looked up at the sound.
"Family member?" The eldest doctor stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the blood-stained woman.
"Just a passerby." Glen shifted aside to let a nurse receive the victim. "Found her by the forest edge."
The doctor's brow furrowed: "Are you willing to cover the medical expenses?"
"My purse is light." Glen shook his head. "Better to settle accounts once she awakens."
"...Very well." The doctor waved for the victim to be carried into the inner room.
Glen chose a chair and resolved to wait until she regained consciousness. Before long, the curtain stirred and a nurse poked her head out: "She's awake."
Just as he rose to take his leave, the clinic door burst open. A figure swept toward him on the wind, ice-cold fingers clutching his wrist in a death grip.
"Sir!" The girl's breathing came in ragged fragments, her tear-filled eyes like winter pools. "Please—was it you... did you carry in an injured woman?"
Glen nodded in stunned acknowledgment. Dudde Town was small enough that his blood-soaked passage through the streets had become a conspicuous landmark.
Leyla nearly collapsed to the floor. She'd searched desperately, tears and strength exhausted, until some townsperson mentioned Glen's trail. Hope rekindled like sparks, and she'd followed that meager description with dying breath.
The moment of confirmation sent her arrow-straight toward the inner room.
"Mother...!" The cry struck white walls, spattering endless anguish. The girl threw herself beside the bed, her shoulders trembling like leaves in wind. The woman on the bed painfully raised her hand, and mother and daughter's sobbing embrace tightened the very air in the room.
"Truly heartbreaking," the old doctor murmured.
The nurses dabbed their eyes and nodded in agreement.
Only Glen stood silent in the corner, his gaze dark. Indeed a beauty—he analyzed coldly. Eyes like autumn water, face like morning lotus; no wonder his predecessor had been obsessed, even learning her full name.
Leyla finally managed to stifle her grief. After whispering briefly with her mother and wiping her cheeks, she approached Glen and bowed deeply.
"My deepest gratitude, sir." Her reddened eyes made their color appear even more crystalline. "Without your aid, the consequences would have been unthinkable... Please give me your address so I might call upon you to express proper thanks!"
Glen silently scoffed that the thanks belonged to that crow-like man, but explanations would only create complications. Mention his dwelling? He could almost picture this girl's face draining of color when surrounded by a pack of wolves. Yet her gaze burned bright as an oath—refusal would only strengthen her resolve.
"Bayeck Town." He finally spoke. "Straight through the main gate, where you'll find a villa flanked by a three-story building."
He would simply have the wolves guard her secretly when the time came—he calculated inwardly.
Light bloomed in Leyla's eyes as she bowed again: "You truly are a compassionate gentleman."
A smile no one could detect flickered across Glen's lips. If only she knew what manner of den she would be entering.
"Bayeck?" The doctors exchanged puzzled glances. "We've never heard of such a town nearby..."
"Just a remote little place." Glen waved farewell, leaving their questions hanging. The towns were neighbors—how could no one know? If this girl truly wished it, she would find her way.