[/html]It had been days (days!) and far too long since The Incident had occurred. Far too long, too much time spent moping and hiding, hiding and moping, wining and howling and NOTHING. He had done nothing, he had sat there, sat there doing nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing to help nothing to solve, good for nothing, useless for everything. A failure, a flunk, a dropout, he had trailed off the path and had no one to blame but himself.
But he had been scared. That was his excuse, he had been afraid. Afraid for his life, afraid for those around him, certain the murderer would strike again, but then what? What could he do? Nothing. He could not fight, he could not hurt, he could not heal. He could make brooms, but that was it. Nothing else.
But could find someone who could do something. And he would find them, soon, soon, someday (soon). He had been walking for a few hours now and had not come across another canine since. He was close to giving up when he saw someone, off in the distance, picking their way slowly across the Shattered Coast. He was saved; she was saved, and they were all free. "Miss!" he called after the girl in French, his northern accent thick and heavy. "Miss!" he called out again as he trotted closer. "I need to show you something, please, hurry!" he spoke softer now that he had neared, again, in French (as he did not know enough English to express his concerns).
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