Kinn Yaraway's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Kinn Yaraway walked the road at dusk, axe slung across his back, every step pointed toward the stronghold his blood had built and lost. He had measured this journey in years, not miles. A few more pieces, and the old man at the end of the road would never see him coming. Then he saw the bones. They sat heaped in the dirt, wet and red, pierced through with bright-fletched arrows like a signpost. The bounty hunter from the last town had passed this way. She was marking her trail. She wanted him to know. Kinn left the road. He found a stone cottage swallowed in moss, its shutters split, its door hanging crooked. He slipped inside and waited in the dark. Hooves came soon after, slow and careful. A shadow moved past the broken window — a winged shape, scaled and wolfish, sniffing the air for him. Her tracker. The beast turned toward the doorway. Kinn stepped out behind it and buried the axe before it could cry out. He dragged the body inside, wiped the blade, and pulled the hunter's own cloak from its saddle. By morning he walked the road again, wearing her colors, one piece closer — and one enemy now certain he was dead.