You hadn't tried to stop the proceedings. In fact, you welcomed them. After all that Washburn had done to torture your people in the depths of the Nail for years, the execution was justified. Necessary. Sonoma declared her judgment on the ex-Warden and unceremoniously dropped him through the trapdoor. His neck cracked on the way down, saving him several minutes of suffering and strangulation. After the events of the afternoon you'd wanted some time to gather your thoughts in peace, so you excused yourself from your companions with a hasty apology. The hill at the edge of Sonoma's camp was quiet for the moment, and the view out over the surrounding forest rivaled any overlook you'd climbed back in Haven.
From the peak of the hill, you scented something you hadn't smelled before approaching through the forest. No. Not something. Multiple somethings. The closer the smell got, the more certain you became. A large group of humans was approaching through the woods!
You leapt to your feet, stepping back as you scanned the camp's perimeter. A thundering roar cracked the silence and a stinging pain erupted on the right side of your neck. Suddenly feeling unsteady, you fell to one knee. You'd been shot!
Falling to all fours, you forced yourself into a lurching run, unsteady, but still faster than you'd have been able to manage in human form. At the base of the hill, not far from the barracks, the pain began to overwhelm you and a fearful howl ripped its way from your wounded throat. You heard shouts of alarm and calls to arms, and over it all was the popping and cracking of bones, grinding against one another as the camp sang the atonal song of war.
Blackness overwhelmed you and all was silent.
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