The room was quiet again, save for the sound of someone taking in a deep breath, and then releasing it slowly and unsteadily. The magistrate was furious, and fighting back his natural urge to start yelling. Slatrim was facing away from Buck, but he could already imagine the man's jaw quivering, teeth clenched and face flushed; those beady eyes peering sharply at Olvic. Slatrim had always had a bad temper, but it had gotten so much worse with age. He didn't take too well to being disobeyed, but Olvic wasn't someone he could push around easily. The head-merchant stood his ground. “We’re bein’ killed here, Slatrim. How many more 'til ya see we can't take care of this on our own?”  

“If ya don't like how I run things, leave! Take ya own damn family and go!”

“I tried!” Olvic looked away in shame. “But Pelase won't take us. Said they don't want any of us comin' there. They're afraid we will bring misfortune, as well as that thing, with us.”

The room started buzzing with hushed discussions, people clearly concerned about what the merchant had just told them. It would seem quite a few of them had considered leaving the town themselves, and the news that it was no longer an option alarmed them.

“It gets worse,” Olvic continued,” they're thinking of blocking the road, so that none of us can leave. To keep the curse contained, they said.”

The buzz grew into an agitated commotion, people now outright frightened and despairing. It was one thing to not be welcomed anywhere else, quite another to be practically trapped in with the beast. Runrick only had one road that connected them to the outside world, and that led to Pelase. If they lost that, the only other way to leave would be through the forest, on foot, and that was practically suicide now.

Some yelled their outrage, others cried and moaned, but among the uproar Buck picked up one particular sound that took him completely aback. It wasn't loud, shouldn’t have been distinguishable in all that noise, but it was the dissonance that made it stand out so garishly. Everyone else started hearing it too, and slowly quieted down to look at the newcomer incredulously. The man was chuckling. When he noticed everyone staring at him, instead of stopping, he doubled down and started laughing. Soon, all that could be heard was the stranger's chilling laughter reverberate in the room. The magistrate's ire cut in. “This funny t'ya, boy?”

The man finally quelled his fit, but he kept his smile on. No, not a smile; that was a smirk. Even with him so far away, even without seeing that specific malicious glint in the eyes, Buck knew that there was disdain behind that upturn of the man's lips. It was wide enough to show a row of pearly white teeth, and there was something about that display that made Buck's blood run cold. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man was trouble.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly. “Very. And I think neither you, or anyone else here, would hold it against me if they knew why?”

“Well, then why don't ya share it with the rest of us,” hissed the magistrate.

“Alright,” chirped the stranger.

 He then started moving forward, walking casually towards them. People bustled to get out of his way, all eyes on him. He walked down the center of the nave with long, purposeful strides, right up to the magistrate. The shorter man tensed, Shumper and Sloap also ready to jump in to help their boss. The man didn't stop, didn't even slow down, as he went right passed the magistrate. The old man had wavered and stepped aside when it became clear it wasn't him the stranger had been walking towards. He casually passed between Shumper and Sloap, both towering over the hooded man, completely unfazed by their attempt to intimidate him with their fierce glower. He walked down the aisle and climbed up on the dais, looked at the chair Chief Slatrim had been sitting on, turned around, and plopped down on it. The uproar was back. The priest and his wife, who had been sitting next to the magistrate, now jumped out of their seats too. “This is insolence,” cried the priest, but made sure to get off the dais before he did so. Instead of responding, the man grabbed the now empty chair the priest had been sitting on and used it as a leg rest. Without so much as uttering a single word, the stranger had managed to insult both the magistrate and the priest more than they had ever been in their life. Not even his old teacher had ever gone so far. Buck wasn't particularly fond of either the magistrate or the priest, both having expressed their displeasure and disappointment in Buck harshly and condemning him to isolation without any remorse, but they were still his elders, and the leaders of his town. They still deserved some respect. Who is this cheeky little shit? He was close to Buck now, but the proximity didn't help any. His profile was covered by his hood, only a straight, sharp nose and a hint of lips peeking from behind it.

Chief Slatrim was still as a statue, only the muscles in his jaw twitching. He might have been a short-tempered, bitter old man, but he was shrewd enough to recognize a power play when he saw one. “Well?” he demanded. The man didn't reply immediately. Instead, he just kept staring at them. A slight rotation of the hood indicated that he was surveying the gathering, as if to take note of who was there. Buck made sure he was well hidden behind the corner of the room.

“Most of you were there that day, so you all should understand why I'm so pleased by all of this.”

The magistrate lost his patience “WELL?” he roared again. “Will ya just fucking explain yourself already?”

“Better than that,” the man chirped, “I'll show you.”

And the man pulled of his hood.

It didn't hit immediately. The anticipated reveal turned out to be underwhelming when the man's face didn't instantly tell Buck anything about his identity. But as he kept looking, it slowly came to him, bit by bit, separate pieces that he realized fit together. The more the puzzle filled out, the more familiar the image became.

The thick, black locks he had recognized outside suddenly appeared in a long-forgotten memory; a pale-faced boy sitting alone underneath a tree. The boy had deep dark eyes that always held a bit of resentment when looking at you, just like the man before him did now. The shape of the nose, the cut of his cheekbones, and everything else about his face matched a little with what he remembered. Some things were definitely different about him. He still had that same sickly complexion, but the dark circles under those eyes had disappeared, and his cheeks weren't sunken in anymore. He had filled out, you could tell. He was also radiating confidence now, to an obnoxious degree to be honest, whereas before he had been rather gloomy and skittish.

However, Buck's most glaring memory of him was that of his yellow-tinged pupils looking helplessly back at him, mouth too filled up with sharp teeth to speak properly. That memory was then followed by another one, just as vivid; the boy, bruised and beaten, was furiously yelling at them, the raw hatred in his voice and Ogette's frightened sobs spurring Buck into action. The last thing he did to Luric, before he left town to be raised and trained by one of the most prominent and powerful families in the country, was hurl a rock at his head.

“Shit.”

It was only when he saw Luric blink in surprise and begin to slowly turn his head in his direction that Buck realized he had said that out loud. And Luric had heard. He immediately pulled his head back behind the corner, twisting so that his entire backside was now plastered against the wall between them. Buck needed the support; his legs were shaking. He was breathing hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Had he been fast enough? Had Luric seen him? He tried to listen if footsteps were coming his way, but there was nothing. He didn't dare peek around the corner anymore, so he kept his ears open. 

Meanwhile, recollection started to dawn on the rest of the townsfolk as well. Buck could tell by the higher pitch and urgency in their voices, and the tumult kept escalating as doubt and confusion dissipated, and realization struck; the past had come back to bite them in the ass at the worst possible time.