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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

Wyot crouched agog at the side of the Olde Black Road. The baying of hounds sent the man scurrying for cover, pulling his cart with him into the dense foliage that hung over the black earth.

His three days journey on the old road had been uneventful, free from bandits and other travelers alike. On several evenings smoke columns rose from distant, differing points along the horizon. Villages and hamlets that he intentionally avoided thus far. They were untrusting and wary of strangers. Wyot was no merchant which made him even more suspicious in their eyes.

Now the man watched as a deer burst from the woods, two great hunting dogs worrying at the beast’s side, with another three hounds close in pursuit. The pack felled the creature swiftly, massive jaws holding firm.

Roving dogs were a common enough menace. But then late comers arrived to the scene. Wyot supposed them to be the hounds’ handlers - a hunting party. The men quickly set about pulling the massive dogs away, holding them tightly by heavy collars. The final attendent cleared the forest, some kind of warlord or noble.

Wyot was only confused more by the man’s appearance. On a length of heavy chain held in his hands were two youths, lopping on all fours and completely unclothed. They nosed about the deer awkwardly, casting sideways glances at the bearer of the leash.

A big bull of a dog growled loudly at the pair, sending them both scampering back to the man’s feet, visibly quaking.

Feral children, he wondered. Raised by hounds? Stranger and stranger still.