Stealing from the mysterious orc had been as easy as stealing sweet treats from an gnomish youngling. This was probably because it was so unexpected. Who would steal from the Clan Leader's son in the tavern owned by the Clan Leader's sister? Only an idiot, right? Looking back, Snagthorn cringed at the memory, but back then all he saw was a shiny red diamond left unattended on a bar. What else was he supposed to do? It would have been rude to just leave it there.

So, he'd taken it, hadn't he? He'd wandered straight up and popped that thing in his pocket before he'd even thought about checking who the orc was or what the diamond was. At the time, it hadn't seemed to matter. 

With the diamond in his pocket, he snuck away from the tavern, and into the frosty evening beyond. It wasn't yet cold enough to snow, but it was cold enough for Gergar to feel like his nipples could cut through glass... or at least have someone's eye out if they weren't too careful. 

It didn't take long for the evening to come alive with the shouts of "thief!" and other names that were perhaps not as polite as that. Gergar was offended; he wasn't a mere thief, he was a criminal mastermind and entertainer! For a brief moment, he thought about sticking around and trying to explain that to the half a dozen orcs who had started to chase him down an alleyway, but he soon thought better of it. In fact, his feet had decided that was a stupid idea before his brain did, as they picked up the pace without him even realising. 

"Look at him run!" the mysterious orc shouted.

"Don't worry, son! We'll take back what is ours!" the Clan Leader shouted. It was at that moment that Gergar realised just how much trouble he was in.

"Look at him, he's a coward," the Clan Leader's son said. "There's no need for us all to chase after him. I'll do it myself. I'll make him regret ever setting foot in Dirgefall."

Gergar wanted to tell him not to worry and that he already regretted it, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. The Clan Leader's son was already chasing him down. From the look on his face, it looked like the Rage was upon him. Gergar didn't stand a chance. He'd never been able to conjure the Rage - it was one of the reasons why he'd never found a home in any orcish clan. It was why he'd turned to entertainment (and petty theft) in the first place. An orc without the Rage just didn't seem natural to other orcs, but they paid less attention to it if he made them laugh. 

"I think you're mistaken," he said, just before entering the forest that backed onto the town. "I haven't taken anything. It was someone else. It must have been."

"Now you're a coward and a liar!" the other yelled, his voice echoing around them and causing the birds in nearby trees to take flight in panic.

Gergar wished he could fly, but all he had was his feet and his wits. Not waiting for the other orc to get any closer, Gergar crashed into the forest and ran as fast as his legs would take him. Around him, the forest was silent, aside from the cawing of crows. Why were they so loud? 

All shadows and secrets, the forest became darker with every passing moment. For a heartbeat, Gergar thought such darkness was there to help him hide from his pursuer, but in hindsight he realised it was something else entirely. Those shadows were there as a prediction; a hint at what was about to happen to his soul. Gergar had never put much thought into whether or not he had one of those soul things. He'd known orcs who spent time on the battlefield and who faced Death as a regular occurrence who discussed such things frequently, but Gergar had never had the need to consider that stuff. Up until that point none of his audience had ever tried to kill him.

His breath burned in his lungs, and the metallic tang of blood crept into his mouth as he pushed himself harder and harder to run faster and faster. His feet reached speeds he'd never been able to before... but then, he'd never had to run for his life before. Avoiding death was a highly efficient motivator. 

He dared to look over his shoulder to see how close the other orc was. As far as Gergar could see, there was nothing but forest. Relief flooded through him as he realised that he was alone. Had the other orc got lost? Given up? Gergar didn't much care either way. 

The other orc may not have been in sight, but crows certainly were. They were everywhere; perched on every available branch and surface, their beady black eyes staring at him. Judging him. One by one they cawed, as if trying to send him a message. Gergar tried to shake the feeling of dread that those caws created in the core of his soul. That was a problem for another time. Those crows may have been creepy, but at least they weren't trying to kill him... Not yet, anyway. 

Not daring to believe he was safe, his feet continued to run. Exhaustion threatened to overcome him, but he knew he shouldn't risk pausing for a breather. Not yet. Not until he was safe and secure in another tavern in another town with another name. 

Gergar continued to run. The crows took flight. 

"I SEE YOU, COWARD!" a familiar voice shouted. The crows cawed in excitement.

"Fuck," Gergar muttered as he realised that he wasn't free just yet. Then he muttered it again when his foot caught a rogue tree root and he crashed to the ground, landing on his arse.

"There you are," the other orc said as his bulk appeared through the trees like a demigod from a legend. "You have something of mine."

The Clan Leader's son seemed oblivious as the crows got into position around them.