Abandoning the shoreline of the lake, in favour of the more direct route to the smoke, Azrael made his way through the forest.

This time around however he was more cautious, stopping and circling around wild animals. There were surprisingly more than Azrael had thought compared to his first trip. It might have been because he was a lot quieter this time round.

Now, as he walked, he saw animals. Here was a boar, while there a wild deer. Once or twice a squirrel scared him, racing out of the bushes and into the trees. Occasionally an animal would lift their head in his direction as he passed, and he would freeze ready run. After a while they ignore him and go back to grazing, letting him pass.

Eventually the smell of smoke got stronger, and Azrael took more care in his approach. He didn’t know what, or who had started the fire and he wanted to avoid another boar scenario. It was much to his surprise however when he found himself, not at the source of the fire, but at the edge of the forest.

Before him, the sun illuminated thousands of green and gold stalks of grass, creating a shimmering sea in the breeze. Insects buzzed and it presented an idyllic image of almost perfect harmony.

Almost perfect, because just before the horizon rose a large plume of grey black smoke, the subtle breeze of the plain fanning hungry flames and driving heat mirages into the air.

Behind all that were vague silhouettes of some houses, their shapes warped by the heat.

Azrael stood and watched, curiosity warring with caution, when he saw the houses. On one hand houses meant chances of clothes and tools, on the other it meant humans. Caught in an internal debate he almost missed three figures, as they appeared out of the smoke. It took him a further moment to realise that they were heading in his direction – at a considerable speed.

Caution momentarily won out and he stepped back into the protection of the forest, watching them from behind a tree.

Their shapes emerged as they neared him. Two men in rough spun clothes and one of the bison creatures. He pulled himself back further into the shadow of the tree, his fragile image of paradise crumbling by their approach.

There were people here.

He watched as the two men ran alongside one of the large bison beasts, weapons in hand. A younger brown-haired youth with a spear and another the other, slightly older, sporting black hair with a sword.

The sun above glinted off their iron blades, causing him to try and shrink back further into the shadows.

As he watched they herded the running beast, towards the forest, where the trees would block its escape. It was a clever tactic, but presented Azrael with a large problem. They were heading straight towards him.

He barely had enough time to properly hide behind the tree before they reached the forest. The bison-creature tried to swerve to the side, realising the ploy too late. Even as it turned to avoid the trees it sealed its fate.

By turning, it exposed its side to the two hunters. This allowed the spear wielder to impale it in the shoulder, pushing and pinning it between the trees and him. The second hunter moved around, blocking off its escape route and with a practiced slash of his sword cut open its throat.

The beast bellowed in pain, bucking and trying to escape, even as its life blood ran out and watered the ground at its feet. It staggered forward for a moment, trying to ram the sword wielder with its under-developed horns – an adolescent bull Azrael realised. But its fate was already sealed.

It staggered to a stop, crying out piteously, as its attempts to escape became weaker and weaker. Eventually it collapsed onto its knees, unable to support its own weight. It sagged, resigned to its own fate and a moment later the last spark of defiance left its eyes.

The spear wielder held it there a moment longer, before tearing his spear out of the shoulder. The dead bison collapsed to the side, no longer supported by his weight. The swordsman sat down, while the youth took out a knife and started working on their kill. Even to an outsider their relationship seemed strained.

Azrael took the moment to observe the two. They were both wore clothing, brown pants with a brown shirt. Totally unremarkable, except the swordsman, obviously the senior, had a black armband with a crude depiction of a white sheep. And shoes. They both had a set of beautiful leather shoes. Ok, they were pretty average, but they were still shoes.

Azrael wiggled his toes, feeling his bruised and scratched feet. He could kill for those shoes. Briefly he contemplated it. Both hunters were exhausted from a hunt and wouldn’t expect an ambush. They had good shoes, clothes and good weapons… weapons made of iron. Sharp and deadly weapons made of iron. And they outnumbered him.

He figured discretion was the better part of valour in this case, discarding the idea.

Planning to sneak away, while they were distracted, he was suddenly caught off guard when the youth got up and picked up his spear, before slowly walking towards his tree. He froze, pressing himself into the shadows.

Did they discover him?

Had they heard something?

Thoughts zipped through his mind as the youth walked towards him. Behind him the swordman was nonchalantly cleaning his blade on the grass. It made no sense. Then, the youth propped his spear up against the tree, pulled down his pants and started to pee – onto his foot.

Azrael’s mind suddenly came to a standstill. The guy was peeing. On his foot. He wasn’t sure which of these revelations was more shocking. That someone still needed to go to the toilet in the game, or the absolute humiliation he was forced to endure. He glared at the youth in anger. If it weren’t for the fact that there were two of them… The youth suddenly glanced up met Azrael’s eyes.

Alarmed, he gave let out a small cry as he stumbled back. Azrael, already strung tight whipped his spear up in a defensive stance. The swordsman reacted equally as quick, jumping up from his position with a raised blade. The youth too had managed to get his spear again. Except in his haste he held it the wrong way, the spear point pointing away from him.

Two against one. He’d faced worse odd, just usually better prepared. Maybe today was his lucky day and he would get some new shoes he thought grimly.