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The large blacksmith’s hammer one used was lying out on the anvil carelessly. Jati’s first thought was one of derision. As the daughter of a very long line of smiths (that continued with her younger brother), she knew that this was very sloppy, amateurish work. No blacksmith should leave his tools unattended like that!
…no, it wasn’t that. Gregor had seemed quite competent enough at the banquet. Something had caused him to leave, and leave in a hurry. The back of her neck began to tingle as she felt she knew exactly what that something had been.
It wasn’t a good idea to be out here, either. At least, not without her equipment or armor, at the very least. Jati started to head back to Esailas’ place—perhaps she could don some of his armor—but stopped short. The door was closed… and she had left it open. She tried the handle, but it was locked and the door would not budge. Whispering calming words to herself, Jati decided that it might be best to chance going to the cabin up the hill where her own gear was.
As she walked away, the howl of a wolf echoed through the still lands of Duskwood. It was close, too. Jati hurried her pace somewhat, but froze in her tracks as she passed a house, its door rattling violently. Remembering her duty to the townspeople, Jati paused, looking at the empty-seeming house. “‘Ello?” she ventured, but received no response. “Are you there? Are you okay? Do you need me to help?”
She took a cautious step towards the door, but right before she could put her hand on the door handle, it was yanked open from within with a loud “CRASH!”
On the other side was a growling, slavering figure, standing about six feet tall and covered in dark gray fur.
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