Thirty-five

At the sandy coast pack, they secured the talon and were headed back to the pack.

Horses marched down the rocky trail steadily with wooden cargoes being pulled behind them.

The carriage came to an abrupt stop. One of the men came down confused as to why they had stopped.

"What's going on? We need to hurry back with these goods." He shouted at the person handling the horses.

No one answered him in fact the weary gazes the men gave him seemed ominous. He became sceptical, he caught a glimpse of one of the suspicious men.

Then he realised too late as their knife slashed through his neck before his voice could make a word.

Blood gushed out of his throat and he held his bloodied throat choking as he crashed to the ground dead. Rogues had taken over the cargo.

Another of the crescent pack men trembled, turning around to flee; he was the only one left to be slaughtered. He wasn't allowed another step when an arrow shot through his chest penetrating through.