Blood of My Brother

Untitled Part 4

Abbott threw on his trench coat, tying the waist off and grabbing his books. He had a lot on his plate today. His usual rounds would be altered slightly by the news of a woman who'd been beaten last night. Her need for secrecy was as dire as his. If her husband would find out about her seeking treatment she'd face further punishment. Should the king find out about the treatment he'd demand payment, and in that demand he would kill her abuser. Women would not seek help if they knew at what cost.

He had to get his first appointment over with quickly so that he could meet her for treatment at a trusted friend's cottage. He'd only made it to the square with the sunlight barely cutting through the village alleys. It gave the Commons and warm glow. Still the bitter winter winds reminded him he was all too human and needed to get inside quickly. That would not be the case, before he could cross the square a duel broke out between two warriors. These beasts always seemed so much larger when they were colliding. The speed and viciousness of this quarrel led Abbott to realize quickly that this was not some petty squabble but a full on challenge.

The metal on metal clash echoed off the stone walls and the grunting and roars of the men started drawing windows open and people from their homes out of sheer curiosity over who this might be. Abbott only knew one of the would be Spartans, the warrior from the longhouse who'd made offer on a very unwilling bride.

The other must have been an admirer from this kingdom, although it was not someone he knew personally. The two mighty creatures washed the square with each other for as long as their swords held up. Then a mistake was made when they were locked in a little to close to one another. The foreign warrior reached over the entangled blades ripping his claws through the cheek of his opponent.

He was answered in much the same way and within a microsecond the two were tearing at each other without weapons. This part of the challenge turned horrifically bloody right before Abbott's eyes when the victor tore the throat from the loser and heaved his lifeless body to the ground.

All that armor afforded the island native nothing in the way of defense. The foreign Joutone tossed the wad of flesh to the ground in front it's owner, and whipped the blood from his claws as he turned to leave. It was only now Abbott realized this warrior was shirtless, no armor, nothing to shield himself from a single blow. This was most likely a planned attack by the carcass on the ground, and all that preparation afforded him nothing but death against this far superior opponent.

The brown fur hide showing a few deep red gashes as he disappeared into the alleys. Most likely returning to whatever room he was boarding during the council of the elders.

Abbott was almost too stunned by what happened to move. The guards would be along soon to clean up the poor soul, and Abbott was far too booked today to stay and account for any of it. He meant to walk around the carcass, looking for a way to avoid the pooling blood on the cobblestone when a voice caught him off guard.

"Interesting isn't it?" Jean was leaning on the fountain ledge, a piping hot cup of coffee in his hands, black, and steamy. It was the first thing Abbott noticed about him since coffee was incredibly rare around here, non existent in fact. The next thing Abbott noticed was his attire. It was manmade, nylon to be exact. His heavy down jacket was designed for Arctic weather. It was attire Abbott was all too familiar with in his former life.

He remembered the preacher from the beach, but at the time the man was dressed much like the Joutone. This outfit put the doctor in a natural state of suspicion since it sent a clear message; Somehow this man was free to come and go as he pleased. Somehow the Joutone he companioned with trusted him enough not to expose their race to the modern world. That was not a trust easily won.