Chapter Twelve
Searon rushed to help the weak man, straining his back in the process. He was still injured from the blow to his lower back, but he knew the human in front of him was weaker. With an easy touch, Searon shifted the human onto a log. His claymore still resided in his hand. He put the no-longer-glowing weapon into its scabbard.
The man tugged at his long black hair now tangled with waves. It hung just past his shoulders and appeared like it should be tied in a ponytail. His eyebrows were thin and his face shaved clean. Even with the days he’d been unconscious, the man had little facial hair to be noticed. He had a baby face as if young, but his slanted eyes told his age of long experience. They were hazel and harder than any warrior Searon had known. His body seemed fragile w
