Raoulos's gang sat around the table at the abandoned innhouse, some playing card games, others throwing back cups of fiery drinks. They were a rather uncouth looking bunch, they rarely shaved or bathed and most were missing six or seven teeth. Between spouts of hoarse laughter, yells of fury would occasionally rise over the din as one man was accused of cheating, another of stealing a coin or other valuable. Raoulos could only sit and smile as he watched it all happen. He had created quite an empire off of these empty sinners, and knew that if one turned against the group, they could easily be apprehended and reported to the church. In escence, the group was the only safe place for criminals and murderers.
One new member in particular piqued Raoulos's interest. A young boy, barely below marrying age who went by the name of Trippio, someone he had picked up on a previous trip to Lodola. He had first presented himself as a helpless orphan, seeking a nights refuge. In one night, he ransacked the entire hideout, carrying off anything of value, but didn't make it far down the alley due to the weight of his loot compared to his own size. Raoulos, despite being fiercely impressed, beat the boy till he spat blood and allowed other members repay him with their feet and fists. He had ended the confrontation with "Do that again and you're dead" but he held out a hand to the boy and the gang cheered. Even simple men like these could see the advantages of having a kid like Trippio on their side. As the months passed, he had more than proved his worth through his heists; he stole on a level that could only be matched with the most technical professions, such as an apotheke mixing precise herbs for a remedy. Not a drop of sweat, not even a fingernail clipping out of place.
His ability to hide behind his orphan facade, while waning with every passing year, could still get him very interesting information and he often tipped off the gang to suspicious and therefore possibly worthwhile bystanders. He had recently picked out a merchant said to be accompanied by the devil himself, and was also said to have dealings with alchemists in multiple towns. This man was sold to the church for 400 Trinny silver coins, now beginning to rise in value due to the dropping purity of other silvers. Trippio of course demanded half of the coins for his own private use, which was gladly obliged by the others.
That very night, they were celebrating the transaction, but something didn't sit right with the olive skinned thief prince. His long black hair drooped over his mead, with a few locks eventually shifting to fall into the cup, where they rested on the surface of the amber drink. His eyes could not be seen, but his mouth portrayed a stern countenance that created the illusion of a grown man under the weight of the world. The rabble surrounding him paid him almost nomind, save for the occasional slap on the back, which of course knocked only more of his hair into his drink. Yet the stern boy held himself in the same odd manner.
The truth behind his seriousness was the fact that he had not slept in 4 days, since the night of the hunt- and- capture rally. He was sure that he had seen another person on the cart with the merchant the multiple times that he stalked him, yet when the man rushed towards them as if to attack, he was alone. His mind swam in the possibilities, a whore, a business partner, maybe even a hitch hiker. But if the tales were true, it could mean that this mysterious person could bring even more money than the merchant.
He finally sat up and took a drink out of his cup. His mouth puckered slightly at the bitterness, and he almost spat it back out. Most of the men were getting too drunk to move by this time, and he decided to retire to his chambers for another sleepless night.
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On the outskirts of Lodola, Holo slept in wolf form under a copse of willow- esque pines. After leaving her child at (as much as she hated it) the church, she had grabbed most of the remaining wheat out of the bag around her neck and transformed in order to leave the town in the quickest way possible. She was still covered in her own blood, and slept through most of each day, only waking to stretch her stiff muscles. She was dying, and she could feel her insides fester in the heat of the sun. Days passed and she was not recovering, only getting worse. She would think about her beautiful baby whom she refused to kill, despite her instincts; she thought about Lawrence...
"Oh Lawrence..." her big eyes fluttered like alighting butterflies, holding back her tears. She could only hope he was still alive, even though she doubted it strongly. Her hope was fading as fast as her health.
Her body became just more weight for her to carry. Her fever dreams narrowed into one fixed proposition, and her waking thoughts gradually aligned. With the last of her strength she took the almost empty pouch into her mouth, thought of Lawrence, and swallowed. As of that moment, Holo the Wise Wolf was no more.