Chapter 11
Unaware of an ambush, Death rode his horse on the lower part of the hill. His hawk was still faithfully on his left shoulder. He passed the tents and the dead fire. The Hellguard soldiers were hiding behind the tents, preparing their crossbows and unsheathing their weapons. Strife was sitting, tied up and gagged, on a horse with a soldier. Strife saw they were getting ready to attack. Even though Death wasn't his favorite person now, he didn't think it was right for Death to die. He only wanted what was rightfully his. Strife struggled and pulled at his gag, finally getting it loose enough to spit out. He worked the thick ropes of his hands and got an idea. He glanced at the soldier.
Strife put his arms around the soldier, choking him with the rope.
"Look out Death!" Strife called out. The angel struggled and broke free. He pushed Strife off his horse.
Death rolled his shoulder, sending the hawk to fly over the area. The Hellguard came out of their hiding places. Two shot arrows from their crossbows at him. One hit and saddlebag on his horse and the other was caught by him before it could strike him in the chest. Death pulled out a crossbow and used the arrow. He fired it and shot a soldier in the chest. Two other soldiers were getting ready to shoot at Death when Strife threw a rock at them, his aim sharp and got one in the head. The arrow shot up, hitting the hawk in the sky. It let out a piercing cry. The other soldier shot a Death while he was distracted, shooting him in the shoulder. Death winced and looked back up. He saw the hawk falling from the sky.
"NO!" Death cried out.
Strife freed himself and watched the hawk fall to the ground. Angry, Death pulled out the arrow in his shoulder and charged at the soldier who shot him. He stabbed him in the stomach and stared hatefully into his dying eyes.
He let go of the angel and watched him fall to the ground. He took out his scythe and cut down the last soldier, the one who shot the bird. Death turned back to the horse where the hawk had fallen. Strife followed him.
With his scythe in hand, Death stabbed it into the ground and steadily walked to the hawk. He kneeled in front of it. The weak cry from the hawk was tearing Death up inside.
Strife didn't understand Death's actions. He was hovering over the hawk protectively as if it was the most important thing to him. It was a hawk for crying out loud. He can get another one and train it like he did this one. What was the big deal about that?
"Easy," Death told the hawk soothingly,
"It's going to be alright. I promise." He looked back at Strife.
"Quick, get my cloth from my saddlebag." Death instructed. Strife did what he was told and rushed to Death with the cloth. Death wrapped it securely over the birds wounded middle, cradling it gently as if it were a newborn. He handed the hawk to Strife.
"Get help." Death commanded. Strife raised an eyebrow.
Help for a hawk? Strife asked himself.
"It's just a hawk Death. It's done for." Death grabbed Strife by the collar with one arm, nearly lifting him off the ground.
"Don't you dare say that!" He growled. Regaining his cool, he lowered the younger nephilim down.
"Get on my horse. Go west. You will find a ruined home on a cliff. You'll find an old man named Crow father. Give him the hawk. He will know what to do." Strife got on the horse and Death handed him the hawk. He looked up at Strife, making sure his threatening eyes met Strife's confused ones.
"If you fail, I will hunt you till my dying breath. There will be no place where you can hide from my wrath. Now go!" The horse shook its head and nickered a good-bye to his master and took off in a gallop, startling Strife and making him grapple the reins to stay balanced.
He watched them leave and Death fell to his knees in front of his scythe in a weakened state. He looked up in search for answers.
"Please," He begged.
"Don't let the hawk die."