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The North Ride, 1372 DR. 20th day of The Fading.

The second survivor Aiden found had propped himself up against a wagon wheel. He didn't remember the man's name. As Aiden walked over, he saw blood all over the place and a bloodied arrow sitting in the dust. Aiden rushed over, kneeling over the man as he pulled out the cloak that he had grabbed from one of the hobgoblins and began tearing it into shreds. The poor man looked up at Aiden, his eyes growing wide.

The caravan guard didn't say anything as Aiden began wrapping strips of the cloak around the man's bloodied leg, wrapping it as tightly as he could. As he worked, the coppery scent of fresh blood filled his nose. His stomach gurgled, reminding him how long it had been since Aiden had last eaten. He didn't realize just how hungry he was until a line of drool fell from his mouth into the blood-spattered road dust. He licked his lips and then paused to wipe his mouth on the remnants of his shirt.

Aiden finished wrapping the man's leg with scraps of the cloak he'd purloined. The guard muttered a weak thanks, and Aiden stood up to see if there was anyone else he could help. He checked to see if Trent was still alive, but the man wasn't moving, and his lips were turning blue. Aiden swore again, a snarl coming to his lips. He had liked the guard. Trent had told some fantastic tales of fighting pirates off the coast of Sembia.

As he went from body to body, checking for signs of life, his sense of unease deepened. The only surviving guard was the man whose leg he'd wrapped. He found the merchant dead in the back of a wagon, an arrow through the man's skull. He hadn't liked the rude fat man, but it seemed a shame to die like that.

The fat merchant had said he would pay him a wage of a single gold piece per night for he'd supplied enough food for the caravan. He'd certainly managed that, and figured the merchant owed him at least five gold pieces. Aiden reached out and turned the man over, leaving smears of blood on the merchant's clothing. He saw a small bulge on the man's chest, and a thin leather cord around the dead merchant's neck. A quick tug on the cord revealed a small pouch that jingled faintly. He pulled it open with his claws, and his eyes widened. There must have been at least fifty gold pieces in there, plus some silver and copper. It was more money than he'd seen in his entire life.

For a moment he was seriously tempted to take the entire bag. That was theft. Worse, it was grave-robbing. He could picture his father frowning at him and his mom looking at him with sad eyes, full of disappointment with him. On the other hand, the fat merchant wouldn't need it anymore, since he was dead. It was probably only a small fraction of the value of the goods in the rest of the caravan, and Aiden would desperately need the money when he got over the mountains. Aiden snapped the necklace off, dropping the whole bag in his belt pouch.

As he looked down, one of the guards' bodies caught his eye. The man had been an experienced mercenary, and had favored a two-handed sword rather than a sword and shield. He rolled the man over. The greatsword was lying in the dust. It was over a foot longer than his father's longsword, and had a much bigger handle. He reached out to try the grip. It was perfect for his larger hand, and he carefully undid the man's shoulder harness, scabbard, and belt.

He looked around at the bodies on the ground, wondering if there would be anything else he might find, and felt somewhat nauseated with himself. The thought of going over a dead body searching for gold was disgusting. He almost pulled the pouch of coins from his pocket, but then thought better of it. He had been owed at least some of that money, and he would definitely need the sword.

Suddenly he remembered Scruff. Where the heck was he? The wolf-dog had taken off into the underbrush after the archers. He turned to the underbrush yelling, "Scruff?!"

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The name didn't sound much like it was intended. His throat and mouth had changed too much. That didn't seem to matter though. A faint whine answered him, somewhere in the underbrush. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, and quickly made his way into the wood at the side of the road. It took him nearly a minute to finally find the wolf-dog, along with the bloodied corpse of another wolf. Scruff stood up as he came into view and growled. Aiden stopped, waiting and hoping that Scruff wouldn't panic and run at the sight of him. The growl turned into a full blown snarl, lips pulled back and ears flat. For a moment, Aiden was worried that Scruff would attack him. He didn't know what he'd do if that happened.

He was rather surprised when Scruff stopped growling and sniffed in his direction a few times, then dropped to his belly again and started licking his leg. Aiden cautiously walked forward, checking Scruff over as the wolf-dog looked up at him and whined, then went back to licking his front leg. Blood was spattered over his coat, particularly the leg being licked. The leg wasn't broken, and he ran his hands gently over the skin. When Scruff didn't complain, he lifted the leg up and felt softly along it. Several puncture mark dotted the skin along with a few longer gashes. then tore another strip off the cloak he'd been using for bandages and began wrapping the leg up. He knew from prior experience that Scruff would gnaw the thing off when he grew irritated with it, but it was the best thing he could do at the moment.

When the leg was wrapped, he spent another minute going over the rest of Scruff, making sure that he hadn't missed any other wounds, then sat and ran his hands over Scruffs head for a bit, scratching behind the dog's ears. He looked over at the other dead animal. At first he'd dismissed it as a wolf, but as he got a good look at the thing, he realized that it wasn't.

The animal's throat had been torn out and it's face ripped and shredded. Parts of its pelt were splotchy, like it had been suffering from mange. As he leaned closer to inspect it, he got a faint whiff of sulfur. The patches in the fur were actually where the fur had turned to scales of some kind. Sharp bony protrusions jutted from its back along the spine and along the ridge above its eyes. He'd heard rumors of the animals before, but never actually seen a worg. They were supposed to be bigger than normal wolves, but this one wasn't much bigger than Scruff.

Scruff licked at Aiden's arm, distracting him. At least Scruff seemed to be taking Aiden's loss of humanity better than he was. The fur on his hands and arms was even thicker than the wolf-dog's. He held up his hand again, inspecting it. He flexed his hand, feeling the muscles and tendons flex under the thick layer of fur. There were definitely some strange changes, especially at the tips of his fingers. One of the muscles in his fingers caused a claws to extend further out. They were even longer than he'd thought. Nearly an inch and a half at full extension. He'd never need a knife again, he idly thought. His toes were much the same; it didn't take him long to figure out how to flex the claws on his toes.

His face was different too. He gently ran his hands over his face. It was fairly obvious that he had a muzzle of some kind. Now that he was thinking about it, it was hard to miss. His mouth was enormous, and he apparently had canines of some kind. They were huge, but not particularly sharp. The rest of his teeth had changed as well. The top of his head had flattened out somehow, and the back of his skull felt weird. He remembered how the girl had reacted to seeing him. No wonder she was frightened.

At that thought, he realized he'd need to go find her. She wouldn't be safe by herself...He had no idea what kind of wilderness experience or survival training she had, and suspected that it was little or nothing at all. He needed to find her, and soon. He patted Scruff once again, and stood up, still feeling faintly awkward at standing on his toes.