The Knight's Eyes

42: Yere Coblii Baje

Galiathan ignored the frostbiters clawing the sides of the boat. He plopped down onto his seat, eyes glaring at the five cravers circling them. Kit saw the man's face and skin blur into the air then return.

One by one, the cravers plucked frosbiters from the water, spraying them with water. Kit unsheathed his dagger and lied flat on his back. He scrunched up his nose and prayed to not be taken by one of those featherless winged flesh-eaters. Mister Allen carefully slid away from the mangled biter beside them. He grimaced in pain and crossed his arms over his panting chest.

When the biters ceased grabbing onto the moving boat, Galiathan stealthily picked up his oars. Keeping his eyes on the cravers above, he returned to rowing. What felt like hours, Kit stayed lied down on his back, dagger resting on his chest. He could care less about the puddle of blood and water around him. All he imagined was being in a safe place, eating cookies, and sleeping in a comfortable bed. It was all he wanted right now.

Mister Allen had forced himself up to help rowing, sitting with his back to them. No words were exchanged.

The sun was high in the sky, possibly noon. His stomach lurched instead of growling. His mouth tasted like iron and was dry as sand. He wanted to cry. Finally, he convinced himself that he was okay now. The cravers and biters were gone. Only the sweet sound of water and birds touched his ears.

Birds?

He propped himself up against the rail and took in their surroundings. Just a mile away was the Forest of Doom that stretched far north through Terra and far south across the river. That's when a crazy idea popped into his head.

"Wait," he said to the giant whose firm serious eyes were planted on Mister Allen's hunched over back.

"What?"

"Can we get Miss Walta and Sir Citrus?" He said, "She lives right up there, past the market."

Mister Allen's head turned in the direction of the empty market arena where beyond sat Miss Walta's street. He looked between his two companions praying they would accept.

"I think we should," Mister Allen grumbled and looked away.

Galiathan narrowed his eyes at the man and nodded. No biters were in this area so they easily parked ashore. Kit was the first to hop out. Galiathan dug into a small crate under his seat and revealed a cloak. He held it out for Mister Allen who looked at it with wide eyes. He nodded and took the cloak. Giving Kit his back, he slid into it, which immediately made the boy feel uneasy. It was by far a hundred degrees. How could they wear so many layers?

What was going on with the two? He had so many questions. They rattled his brain and his nerves with great urgency for answers.

Stealthily, they jogged around the empty arena and up the dirt street. Corpses lied about the ground and one house looked to have caught on fire some days ago. They reached Miss Walta's house and immediately Kit knew something was wrong. The front door had been plundered open. Horseshoe prints decorated the ground.

"Miss Walta!" he shouted running into the house.

"Kit, wait," Mister Allen said on his heels.

Kit halted in his steps. Destruction lied everywhere. Razor claw marks were carved along the walls, the floor, and broken furniture.

"Miss Walta! Master Citrus! Where are you?" he said breaking into sobs.

Galiathan beckoned them to stay put. He checked around the first floor than sprinted upstairs.

"This is all my fault."

"No it's not Kit. I'm to blame."

"How so?"