While waiting for his meal to cook, Marc leaned back against an enormous tree trunk. The change in pace was enough for all the aches and pains brought on by yesterday’s exertion to creep back into his mind. In that moment he was thankful for youth, remembering how Bertrand would complain about his bad knees on cold and wet days. 

“What have I done?” Marc asked.

A trail of blood red water flowed down from where he stood. Without a blade he had to get creative, but nature often provided in times of need. He found several frangible rocks that left behind sharp edges when broken. It was work to skin, and dress the hare, but now it was cooking over an open flame. 

Now that his hands were free of blood, Marc ran his fingers over his knuckles. The wound from last night had dried leaving thick scabs. At least there’s no pain.

When his hands were free of blood, the young man ventured back to his campsite. Enfers appeared entirely content to be here… or is it fear on account of what I did to the hare.

This time Marc repeated the steps in reverse. He carefully set one foot ahead of the other to avoid anything that would make noise, like crackling dead leaves, or snapping a twig. He would freeze on the spot if the hare moved unexpectedly. Pistols were notoriously inaccurate, which meant he needed to get close. A lot closer than the fifteen paces taken in a duel. 

There were risks of him getting too close, while slow and steady had gotten him this far, his presence alone might spook it. Alas, the longer he took, the more likely it was that the hare would hop away in search of more food. 

Once he was under twelve paces, he raised his arm and aligned his body perpendicular to the hare. With his head turned right, his dominant eye focused on the single bead at the tip of the pistol.

Next he grabbed his pistol, readying both barrels with powder, and a ball while using his horse as cover.

He knew the steps well, Bernard had seen to that. At the thought of the man, Marc paused, took a deep breath through his nose with closed eyes and let it all out through his mouth. I hope he’s alright.

After pouring in two seconds worth of powder, Marc returned his focus to the hare. The woodland creature was still there, nibbling at the bark off of a tree. So he capped the horn and placed it back into the saddlebags. 

Next came a wad of cloth, and a lead ball, which he rammed into place using the one attached to the barrel. After the barrel was loaded, he rammed the ball into place, he added a bit more powder to the flash pan, and brought back the flintlock’s hammer.

Marc dismounted from his horse and stretched out his legs. He patted Enfers on his side, holding his hand in place long enough to get a feel for the steed’s breathing. The laboured breaths made it obvious they would need to rest for a while. 

After a search through his saddlebags he found his horn and pistol. He smiled at his luck. A pistol may not have been as useful as a musket for hunting, but firearms would deter those seeking to do him harm… long enough for them to come back in greater numbers. 

Other than the weapon he came up empty. It came as no surprise that there were no provisions or supplies. They were meant to go on a day trip, not a journey to find a sacred ring.

“No one planned for this,” Marc whispered.

This was the crack of dawn and brought the promises of a beautiful day considering the cloudless sky. Still, that meant the world would still be asleep for a while yet. He suspected his father would send guards into those tunnels in a couple of hours. Around noon they would return empty-handed to the Comte. Fear of his wrath would ensure they were thorough in their search.

Assuming they missed the grate he tampered with, the guards would begin an extensive search of the Keep and grounds. While his ability to travel distances at night was limited at night on foot, and no one would suspect he had Enfers with him. That meant he was at least a half-a-day ahead of his potential pursuers… That doesn’t answer my question.