Hark's Harbor was certainly different than he remembered.
Shape hadn't been lucky enough to be able to attend the burning of the trading center – a shame, really – but he had seen the destroyed harbor on a mission soon after. He had been shocked at how little was actually destroyed. He could have taught the "authorized destroyers" a thing or two about actual destruction.
Now, he was surprised by how little remained. He could only see the lighthouse, and the jetty he was standing on. It felt oddly empty – could it really be that so little remained to attest that his world and the Hereafter were once linked?
Snapping his mind out of reflections upon the scenery, the servant of the Lord Of Midnight resumed his chase with a snarl. It was bad enough that he was failing miserably at his task of catching the John Brothers, it was definitely not the time for unwanted sentimentality for a place he hadn't even been to much to creep into his mind.
Listening to himself, he was sure this growl would be worthless. How was one supposed to strike paralyzing fear into the hearts of master thieves with a little puppy dog whine like that?
Shape tried again, pulling forth a sound from the deepest reaches of his body. The resulting vocalization was a guttural conglomeration of angry lions and broken glass.
A twisted, muddy smile emerged from the man's scowling expression. Much better.
He hated those brothers, he really did. Did they even understand how much trouble they caused? Not just for the people they stole from, but for innocents like him?
Shape snickered at his own terminology. Him, innocent? Certainly a roundabout definition of the word. But the multi-headed weasel had forced Shape to pursue him this far – he was going to be very sorry for that. The hellish growl came once again.
A small gathering of bees a ways off scattered at the sound. Shape's natural scowl deepened. Was there anything in this world that wasn't a coward?
