Wolfe Bite Chapter 1
By Captain Gaul
The sun shone brightly that day, glittering prettily on the dew-moistened leaves of Guardia Forest. The birds that were just waking were of the non-violent sort, as the viscous and carnivorous ones calmed down after a night’s ravaging and went to sleep. The fungus was dormant and plants peacefully docile—in short, a terribly beautiful day.
Marle leaned back against a stump and looked up towards the hill. Labor crews were up on Guardia Hill, working busily, much like little ants. Already, the castle was at least an eighth rebuilt—an impressive accomplishment considering two months of work time and the state the castle had been in prior to the ‘repair’ efforts—really more of ‘reconstruction’ efforts. She reached for one of the glasses of water on the picnic blanket and lifted it to her lips, tilting it back slowly. She gazed at Crono dreamily as he practiced his swordplay. A pretty fine guy, on the whole, but their travels together had perhaps made him a bit too combat-minded—and his rigorous self-inflicted training program meant that any date Marle planned was almost guaranteed to be interrupted with half an hour of sword practice. Oh well, she thought, it comes with the territory.
Crono thrusted, lashed, and thrusted again. In his mind’s eye, imaginary imps, skeletal warriors, and reptites were dying with each stroke. His senses centered on a new danger, but this one was not imagined. He continued with his routine, trying to give the impression that he did not notice his would-be assailant.
Marle glanced at her watch (Lucca Productions). Thirty minutes of practice, she would accept, but not a moment longer. And it was now thirty minutes and one second since he had interrupted their picnic. She lifted herself to her feet, and began to walk towards Crono. She opened her mouth to call for his attention, but let out only a brief gasp as she felt a sudden pressure in her shoulder. Almost instantaneously her vision blurred, her muscles spasmed briefly, and she sunk to the forest floor.
Crono kept up his swordplay, chanting the syllables for that familiar spell very quietly. His target made no move to evade, and he had no doubt that the bolt to come would hit perfectly. As he came to the conclusion of the spell, he thrust his sword towards the figure in the shrubs and shouted the final syllable.
A bolt of lightning rushed through the air. The man in the bush had no chance; the force of the bolt knocked him back several feet, and the jolt had frozen his muscles. Crono chuckled a bit, relaxed, and stepped towards his would-be assailant.
While his wit had indeed saved him from one attack, it obviously failed to realize the other. The shot that struck him in the back hit with such force that he spun in the air twice before he hit the ground. While he was unsure how badly he was hurt, especially in his shocked and panicked condition, the whistling with each breath, the blood staining the ground he lay on, and the world blurring before his eyes did nothing to reassure him as he faded to unconsciousness.
.