No, please no!
She had been taken in the morning, the cold and uncovered plate containing his breakfast told him that. She had been taken all these while and he had thought she ran away. He had thought she attacked him to escape and he had sat in the field all evening, crying for his loss when he should have been trying to find her.
He should have known she wouldn’t have left him, he should have known.
Fresh tears came to his eyes, but the heat from his anger dried them up instantly. Now wasn’t the time to cry, now was the time to fight. To show Slade who the leader was.
He went to where he kept the sword. Not a sword, the sword. The sword he had been keeping for a day like this since the first time Slade killed the first lady he wanted to approach. It wasn’t his, it was Slade’s. He had found the blade lying beside him on a green expanse of wasteland when he woke the day after the witch incident. It must have fallen from Slade when he turned into the beast as the witch had promised.
It was with this blade he would end its life if he had to. If he had to!
He strapped on a full quiver of the most poisonous arrows he had, and took one last look of the kitchen before he raced out of the house.
The hunter becomes the hunted.
Time for some hunting.
I’m coming for you, Slade!