1304 Piper Lane

"Nice couple, but a little strange."

Charlie Higginbottom sat in the driver's seat on top of his carriage, watching the passengers he had just dropped off walk arm in arm into Gabrielle's Bistro. The diner was situated on the outside of a large traffic circle. The circle's streets were paved with stone, and surrounded a small park, which was comprised of four benches placed underneath four medium sized oaks, and an elaborate fountain right in the center. A few people walked around in the park, sometimes crossing the street into the surrounding shops and restaurants, and a few unsteady citizens staggered out of The Talisman, the local tavern. Four roads led out of the circle: Hemlock Drive, a short road that led off into one of the city's large residential areas; George's Way, a large main road that led out of the city to the highway, Queen Elizabeth Drive, another short road that led into the other of the city's two residential areas; and Piper Lane, a winding dirt road that led off out of the city and through the nearby farms and secluded cottages. Gabrielle's Bistro was located on the circle between Queen Elizabeth and Piper, next to a fine jewelry shop. The rest of the shops around the circle included a grocer, a post office, a small clothing outlet, a more casual restaurant, a very small theatre, and The Talisman.

The passengers, John and Caroline, were regular customers for Charlie. About once a week Charlie would pick them up outside of their house, which was situated a few miles outside of town on Piper Lane, and bring them into town or, on rare occasions, to the train station. Later on in the night, when they had finished their grocery shopping or other errands that brought them to town, he would pick them back up and drop them off again at home. Although he was very familiar with the couple, Charlie still found it difficult to remember their last name. Lopez or some other foreign name that started with an "L," he guessed. After all, they must be foreigners.

Charlie had seen them many times as he passed by their home, and they were almost always wearing some strange type of long robes. Even their young boy, whose name he had a harder time remembering than their last name, also wore those odd robes on occasion. Charlie had once seen the boy and two of his older friends tossing around a type of ball that he had never seen before. But the strangest and most foreign thing about the couple was that Charlie could swear they used made-up words, even though they spoke perfect English the rest of the time, and he had never heard them fully converse in a foreign language. Words like "Muggle" or "Quidditch" were among those foreign words that came to mind. If they had been young teenagers, Charlie would have put it down to slang, but it was so out of place with these otherwise sophisticated adults that the only word he could use to describe it was "strange."

Charlie stared through the glass and into Gabrielle's: John and Caroline had been seated at a small table by the window with vase of roses and a softly glowing candle between them. They sat conversing lovingly with each other, holding hands across the table.

"Anniversary," Charlie said out loud to himself knowingly.

John had told him it was their fifth anniversary when Charlie had picked them up at their home. Caroline had interrupted, "Sixth," she had said, smiling and elbowing her husband in the ribs.

Charlie let out a long slow sigh. He wished he were not quite so poor; he couldn't bring himself to propose to his darling Lucie without the money for a home for them to live in. Lucie, of course, insisted that she didn't care about money and could live a poor life, but Charlie's pride would not allow it. At the moment, he lived in his carriage, sleeping in the passenger's compartment with a couple of blankets and pillows. He supposed that he could sell the carriage and his two beloved horses, Liza and Becca, but even that would not provide him with enough money to support a family, besides putting him out of the only job he had ever had. His father had lived a very poor life after the death of his wife, and the carriage was Charlie's only inheritance. He couldn't quite bring himself to part with it, and didn't think he ever could.

A sharp tug on the reigns jerked Charlie out of his reverie.

"Ok, ok," he soothed Liza and Becca, who stamped their hooves and shook their heads impatiently. "We're going to get you drink."

Charlie took one last, longing look through the window at the happy couple he so envied, and then guided his carriage towards Piper's Lane, and the horse's watering trough almost a mile down it.

"Nice couple, but a little strange."

***

"He'll be alright," John assured his wife quietly. "Liam and Margaret have watched him before."

"I know John," his wife Caroline replied worriedly. "But I can't help it. I have this funny feeling that something bad is about to happen."

"To him?" John asked quietly.

"Well, no. I mean…I don't know exactly," Caroline sighed frustrated.

"Then don't worry about it Cara," John assured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "He'll be fine. Let's enjoy our night out. It is our sixth anniversary after all."

Caroline smiled, and did her very best to push the worry from her mind.

John was a middle-sized man in his early twenties, his light brown hair cut short and parted down the left side. He wore a black dress suit, with a royal blue shirt and silver tie. His wife was wearing an elegant blue gown, which was form fitting but tastefully modest, and was a perfect match for her startling blue eyes. Her curly brown hair hung down below her shoulders. The two looked innocuous enough, appearing to be a happily married couple out for their anniversary dinner.

They sat by the window inside Gabrielle's Bistro, the finest Muggle restaurant in town. Normally, people like John and Caroline wouldn't go to Gabrielle's, after all, they weren't Muggles. But John had always been fascinated with the Muggle world, and thought it very useful to be acquainted with the Muggle lifestyle. That was probably why he loved his job so much. John worked for the Ministry of Magic, in the Department for Muggle Relations, and because of his knowledge of Muggles advanced fairly quickly in the ranks despite his young age.

The waiter came by the table with an expensive wine, and then took their entree orders. As they waited for their food, nibbling on the delicious rolls, John looked out the window. It was a beautiful summer's evening; the sun was setting, casting a wash of colors above the buildings across the skyline. John could already see an almost-full moon dimly on the eastern side of town. People milled about the sidewalks, going about their merry business. The mossy stone buildings around the circle seemed peaceful, but John kept a wary eye. His wife's intuition was normally very reliable.

Thankfully, dinner came and passed without any trouble at all, and after finishing a plate of delicious cream pastries for desert, John paid the bill and escorted his wife outside. Once outside, the couple looked around for signs of their friendly coachman,
Charlie.

"Maybe he took on another passenger," Caroline suggested when it became clear that Charlie wasn't coming back.

"I don't think so," John said cautiously. "He's never been this late before, and I don't think he would leave without telling us."

"Oh well, shall we take a stroll down Piper Lane?" Caroline suggested with a twinkle in her eye. "After all, it's only a few miles to the cottage, and we haven't walked together in years."

"Alright then," John replied, taking her arm in his again. "Lead on madam."

* * *

After they had walked half a mile down Piper Lane, it became clear that Cara's intuition had been correct. John and his wife rounded a bend in the dirt road to find what they thought to be Charlie's carriage on its side in a ditch next to the road. The horses were gone, presumably run away into the forest, but two ghastly figures lay sprawled next to the carriage. One of the two figures was Charlie; at least, they assumed it was because it had on his coachman's uniform, but the face was too gruesomely disfigured to be able to tell for sure. The body was lying on its stomach with the remains of its head turned towards them, it seemed as if a wild animal had eaten off half of his face. The second figure was a dirty looking man with matted gray hair and a scraggly beard. He was bleeding from the mouth, and had blood all over his tattered clothes. The cloth over his right shoulder was ripped off, and it seemed as if he had removed a muggle bullet from the shoulder with his now-bloodied yellow fingernails.

As they moved nearer to the gruesome scene, the dirty man raised a hand and called out to them in a raspy voice, "Help me please."

Caroline moved forward as if to assist the injured man, but John held her back. The man was calling for help, but his eyes had an almost animal gleam in them that contradicted his desperate plea.

"Don't go near him Cara." John whispered commandingly.

"You think because you whisper, I can't hear you?" The injured man questioned them, this time in a menacing bark. "Are you too good to help a poor peasant injured by a group of bandits on his way to his humble home?"

"You weren't injured by bandits," John answered him in what he hoped was a steady voice. "Cara, apparate home qui…."

The man had leapt from the ground and bounded across the short distance between them, almost reaching the couple before they could react.

Almost. John pulled out a thin wooden wand from his jacket, and waved it at the attacker.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The man froze in midair and fell to the ground with a thud as the jinx hit him.

"Come on Cara, let's get home and call the Muggle police."

Caroline didn't need to be told twice, she spun on the spot, and with a loud "pop," disappeared. John stayed behind for a few minutes; long enough to make sure that their friendly coachman was indeed dead. Then he turned just as his wife had, but before he finished his turn, caught the eye of the attacker, who was glaring at him with an expression of pure hatred. A second later, there was another "pop," and the filthy man with the animal's eyes was alone on the dirt road. A loud rustle in the bushes was the only noise that penetrated the stillness, but mute curses flowed from his motionless jaws.

***

The next morning, Caroline knocked on the door of the Belby's house in the Queen Elizabeth residential area of town. Like John and Caroline, the Belby's were wizards who enjoyed living like Muggles. Unlike John and Caroline, who lived in a secluded cottage outside of town, the Belby's chose to live in one of the many square houses that were evenly spaced along a straight road in the middle of the city. In fact, there was nothing to distinguish this house from any other. It had a maroon shingled roof with a tiny chimney protruding from the right hand side, square glass windows evenly spaced on the white washed walls, and a tiny green front yard with a stepping stone path from the driveway to the front door. The mailbox that stood at the end of the driveway was shaped like a mini replica of the house itself, complete with shingled roof and finely painted windows.

As Caroline waited for the door, she glanced down the street at small dog that was tied to one of the mailboxes. A toy fox terrier, the full grown canine was smaller than an average housecat. Apparently, it took no notice of its small stature, barking at and attempting to chase a Great Dane leading a kindly looking old gentleman who happened to pass by. The larger dog didn't seem to notice its tiny adversary in the slightest, continuing down the street at its lazy pace. Caroline smiled to herself at the terrier's antics, and turned back to the door in time to see it swing inward.

"Caroline! Welcome!" Liam Belby greeted her enthusiastically. "Jolly good to see you, have you come for tea?"

Liam Belby was fascinated with the military, and he actually looked exactly like a retired officer. He had a small monocle over his left eye, and his thick mustache moved up and down with his jolly mouth. He was sporting one of the many military outfits that he had collected over the years, which Caroline thought was a little too tight on his corpulent paunch. In one hand, Liam held a large mahogany pipe, which he puffed on occasionally; the other hand gestured Caroline inside.

"Actually sir," his young son Damocles interrupted as he came to a salute, "I believe she may be here to retrieve the young blighter locked up in the north tower."

"Right you are, my boy!" Liam proudly replied, returning his son's salute.

"Liam," called his somewhat embarrassed wife, who had just come down the stairs into the hall. "Do you have to act this way when we have company? It's bad enough…."

"Nonsense, m'dear," her husband interrupted, throwing a roughish wink at Caroline. "I'll leave you in the charge of the good jailer yonder," he whispered to Caroline in a conspiratory tone. "She's quite agreeable mostly, but she can turn nasty
quicker than you can say toodle-pip!"

"Oh hush," Margaret Belby said as she shooed her husband out of the hall and into the parlor.

Margaret was a very slim middle-aged woman, dressed in turquoise witch's robes that barely whisked the surface of the carpet when she walked. She had blond hair with bangs that kept falling into her eyes when she moved her head. As a result, she spent half her time blowing or brushing them out of her way when she conversed.

"Hello Caroline! How was your anniversary?"

"Very unfortunate actually," Caroline replied gravely. "Did you hear about the attack?"

"Yes we did, Liam was quite worried as a matter of fact." Margaret answered. "Actually, he grabbed that old bayonet of his and started out the front door before I reminded him, first of all, that his wand would work much better; and second of all, that this is exactly what the Muggle police are paid for."

"I'm not sure if a wand would work that much better," Caroline said quietly.

"How's that?"

"Well, John hit the attacker with a Petrificus Totallus smack in the chest, and he had escaped before the police arrived."

"What?" Margaret exclaimed unbelieving. "You mean to say that you and John were the couple mentioned in the papers?"

"Indeed," Caroline admitted. "We were the ones who notified the authorities."

"So you actually saw the culprit?" Margaret asked in an awed voice. "Weren't you terrified? From what I heard it was a very nasty attack!"

"It was probably worse than it said in the papers," replied Caroline, who proceeded to relate the events of the night before to Mrs. Belby.

"Oh my!" Margaret exclaimed when she had finished her story. "I would have been terrified!"

"We were," Caroline agreed motioning to the two young boys who had run down the stairs. "In fact, I thought about coming to get him last night, but John thought he would be safer here. Farther away from the scene and all that."

"Well, he was perfectly safe," Margaret assured her. "He and Thomas and Damocles had a wonderful time, didn't you Tommy?"

"Can he come over again tomorrow?" Thomas Belby, Liam and Margaret's seven-year-old son, asked quickly.

"I don't think so," his mother replied. "After all, his family enjoys seeing him too every once of a while."

Thomas looked at his five-year-old counterpart and nodded sadly, then the two of them ran off again into the parlor. Soon, the two mothers could hear Liam's shouts of "what, what!" and "get off me ya blighters!" emanating from the other room. Apparently, he had been ambushed by the enemy, and was fighting for his life against the beastly little savages.

"So," Margaret whispered, so as not to be overheard by the children. "The attacker got away? How improbable!"

"We've no idea how he managed it," Caroline whispered in return. "But I'm glad John stopped me from helping the savage, I'm sure he would have finished me off just like he did with poor young Charlie."

"Oh no," Margaret sighed. "His poor Lucie too. She lives right down the street you know; we've chatted a couple of times. I'm sure she's devastated."

"Hey," Caroline spoke in a louder tone. "Since you know her, would you like to go with me to offer my condolences? I feel terrible because John and I must have been the last to see Charles, and we'd like to offer Lucie our help if she needs anything."

"Wonderful idea," Margaret replied sadly. "I'll get my hat.

Caroline and Margaret excused themselves from Liam and the kids, and spent the next few hours talking to a miserable Lucie. Afterwards, they returned to the Belby's house, Caroline and her son said goodbye to their good friends, and with her son clutching firmly to her hand, Caroline apparated home.

***

The small cottage at 1304 Piper Lane was a lovely sight: A mossy stone path led off the road and through a gate in the low fence to the front of the house. A few yards from the doorway, it split in two, each new path forming one half of a circle, and converged again on the other side, ending at the entrance to a small wooden front porch. A small pond sank in the middle of the circular pathway, where several large orange and speckled fishes swam peacefully. A frog rested on a lily pad near the edge of the pond; every once in awhile its long pink tongue would dart out to ensnare an unwary insect that had wondered too close. The beams from the wooden porch of the cottage extended up to support the slanted roof, which hung over the porch and cast a cool shadow on its occupant. The walls of the house were made of stone and cement, except for a red brick chimney on the right side that seemed a little out of place. The fence that ran around the house extended to both sides of the path along Piper Lane for a few yards, and then turned at right angles to run into and encircle an extensive back yard. Three young boys tossed an oddly shaped ball to each other and through six small hoops hung a few feet off the ground, three on each side of the yard.

Sitting in the shade of the porch, Caroline sat knitting a sweater. Every so often, she would let out a disgusted gasp and lay the sweater on her lap. Looking around surreptitiously to make sure that no one was looking, she pulled out a wand from the folds of her flowery dress and pointed it at the sweater. She then resumed her knitting, but if one cared to have a close inspection, one might notice that her hands and the needles did not move in exactly the same motions.

Three boys ran around to the front of the house: Caroline's five-year-old son in the lead, crying; followed by a worried looking eleven-year-old Damocles Belby; and finally, seven-year-old Thomas shuffling and looking slightly guilty.

"He got hit in the face with the Quaffle," Damocles explained as Caroline enveloped her bawling son in a warm hug.

"I didn't mean to!" Thomas insisted.

"I believe you Thomas, don't worry," Caroline soothed, giving her son a kiss on the forehead. "Better now?"

"A little," her son admitted, still sniffling.

"Come on then," Damocles said, putting a hand on his injured friend's back. "I'll be on your team."

"That's not fair!" Thomas complained. "You two can't…"

Damocles silenced him with a quick scowl and nodded meaningfully towards Caroline and her son.

"Ok fine," Thomas said, probably still feeling a little guilty. "But I get the bigger goals this time."

Caroline laughed quietly to herself as the three friends ran back around the house to their makeshift Quidditch field. The sun was setting on the Western skyline, and painted a beautiful landscape almost as colorful as her half-completed sweater.

* * *

John sat in his small cubical in the Ministry of Magic's Department for Muggle Relations. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his stiff arms over his head in an attempt to ease his aching back. He was about to pack up his belongings and leave for the night, when a newspaper zoomed into his cubicle and floated down onto his desk. It was a special edition of the local Muggle newspaper, and it's headline read: "REMAINS PROVE TO BE THOSE OF LOCAL MISSING COACHMAN." Curious, John began to read the article:

REMAINS PROVE TO BE THOSE OF LOCAL MISSING COACHMAN

"Yesterday, police at last confirmed that the remains found at the scene of last Monday's horrific attack were in fact those of local coachman Charles A. Higginbottom. Police had been notified of the attack by a couple who were walking home to their cottage at 1304 Piper Lane when they stumbled upon the abandoned and bloodied carriage. They believed it to be Charlie's, who had transported them to Gabrielle's Bistro earlier that evening, and had failed to pick them up to take them home. As previously reported, the remains of Charlie's two horses have been found deep in the surrounding forest, apparently eaten by a large wild animal. However, authorities have still found no trace of the wounded man reported to have been at the scene of the crime."


"Such a shame," John said out loud to himself. "Poor Charlie, it's a good thing I decided to leave that other man alone, he must have been the attacker after all. I knew…."

John sat up straight in his chair, heart pounding in his ears. Hurriedly, he skimmed through the article again until he found the line he had hoped in vain he had imagined: "Police had been notified of the attack by a couple who were walking home to their cottage at 1304 Piper Lane…." John sprang out of his seat, spewing papers onto the floor in all directions.

"How could they print that?" He screamed hoarsely, barely avoiding a collision with a co-worker in the hall as he ran as fast as he could towards the lifts to the disapparating area.

* * *

"Do you all want some lemonade?" Caroline called out the back door of the cottage to the boys in the back yard.

"Sure!" They all called, quickly returning to their game.

"One hundred and twenty to one hundred!" Damocles announced as he threw the ball through one of the hoops in the yard. "Come on Thomas, we're catching up."

"Not for long!" Thomas shouted, winding up with all his might and launching the Quaffle.

But his aim was not up to his normal seven-year-old standards, and the ball sailed to the right and over the fence into the street.

Thomas tried not to look at his laughing opponents as he trudged after the ball.

Suddenly, the ball came flying back over the fence and past Thomas' head. Damocles managed to catch it, and looked back up to see a large rangy man leaning against the fence. Although he was smiling in what was meant to be a friendly gesture, his tattered coat, matted hair, and grisly beard caused a chill to run up Damocles' spine.

Despite Damocles' misgivings, Thomas cheerfully shouted a thank you to the man, who replied courteously with another smile.

"Hey," the stranger said in harsh, but friendly, voice. "It looks like you need an extra teammate. Could I play too? I haven't played ball in a very long time, I don't have many friends.

Before Damocles could open his mouth, Thomas had quickly agreed and invited the stranger into the yard.

"I'm not sure about this," Damocles whispered to his two friends as the man clambered over the fence. "He doesn't look very…nice."

"Oh, you just don't want to lose, scared-y cat!" Thomas teased as he tossed the ball to his new teammate.

The ball zoomed into the highest of the three of Damocles' hoops.

"See!" Thomas called as he gave the man a high five. "Come on Damocles!"

Damocles still didn't trust the man, but the sun was setting, soon the big full moon would be up and Caroline would call them to come inside. Catching the ball his five-year-old teammate awkwardly tossed to him, Damocles decided that a few minutes with this stranger couldn't hurt.

* * *

A loud "pop" broke the silence on Piper Lane, and John apparated, already in full sprint, on the road outside 1304. He leapt over the fence, just in time to hear terrified screaming erupt from the backyard of the house. Wand out, he rounded the corner at the same time his wife burst through the back door and down the three steps onto the grass.

Damocles and Thomas were running towards them as fast as their legs could carry them. A large gray wolf crouched over the limp form of John and Caroline's only son.

John fired every jinx he knew that wouldn't kill or maim, but the wolf dodged out of the way. Teeth bared, it stood up on its hind legs and stared at John with its all too familiar bestial eyes. It almost seemed to cast Caroline a triumphant smile before turning and bounding off into the dark forest beyond the fence.

John and Caroline rushed to the side of their son, blood flowing from his left side onto the lawn. Five or six holes dotted his mangled shoulder where the beast's teeth had punctured the soft skin. John took off his outer robes to try and stop the stream of blood, and to hide the damage from his wife and the other young boys, who had by this time come to see their injured friend.

"Remus!" Caroline wailed into the cloudless moonlit night.

***

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was concealed in the very heart of London, inside what appeared to be a decrepit old department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. Signs on the doors and windows read CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT. The inside of the hospital, however, was clean and new. Lines of witches and wizards waited to be admitted to treatment. Attendants milled around in their lime-green robes, checking on various patients. The second floor of St. Mungo's was dedicated to creature-induced injuries, including: bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.

Inside the Dai Llewellyn ward on the second floor, John and Caroline Lupin stood at the bedside of their five-year-old son, Remus. His shoulder was bandaged, and the blood had been cleaned off. He slept quite peacefully, but his skin had taken on a sickly greenish tint. The healers had done all that they could to treat his injuries, but they could not heal him. The bite would leave a mark on him that would last forever, a mark that would change their young son's life.

Remus Lupin was a Werewolf.

There was a soft knock on the door, and it opened quietly to admit the Belby's. Liam Belby was not wearing a military uniform today, instead, he was dressed in a simple black robe. The jolly smile had completely left his face; his mustache seemed to droop as he led his wife and kids into the room. Margaret was also wearing a black robe, and her eyes were swollen and red from crying. Behind them walked Thomas, who stared intensely at the stone floor, and Damocles, who stared with equal intensity at Remus bed.

Liam and Margaret walked over to John and Caroline, exchanging hugs. Thomas and Damocles shuffled nervously to the bedside of their friend.

"A werewolf." Liam finally spoke, breaking the deathly silence. "The man who killed Charlie?"

John nodded without saying a word, staring at Damocles and Thomas, who each had one of Remus' hands in their own.

"Has he woken up yet," Margaret asked tentatively. "Does he know that he's…?"

Caroline nodded her head yes.

Silence again enveloped the ward.

"Have you eaten today?" Margaret finally said the first thing that came to her mind. "You both look exhausted."

"No, we haven't," Caroline admitted quietly.

"Why don't you come with us and let us buy you some lunch," Liam suggested hopefully. "The healers can look after Remus for a few minutes while he sleeps."

John and Caroline looked at each other, and then nodded. The four adults moved slowly towards the door of the ward, and Thomas moved to follow them. Damocles, however, remained where he was.

The door clicked softly shut behind the others, none of them noticing the absence of the eleven-year-old, and Damocles stared down onto the pale green face of his friend, tears welling in his eyes.

"I should have done something," Damocles sobbed miserably. "I knew. I should have…It's my fault this happened to you."

Damocles buried his face in the blankets, still clenching his friend's hand. A few minutes later, his shoulders stopped shaking, and he raised his head again to look at Remus, eyes and jaws set in determination.

"I'll fix it," He swore through clenched teeth. "Somehow. I…I'll find some way to cure it. I have to."

Remus did not hear his friend's desperate promise, but he shifted slightly in his bed, and a small smile spread across his face.

Damocles stood up quietly, and with hands clenched, stalked silently from the room, letting the door swing gently shut behind him.

***

Daylight streamed into the opening in the gloomy cave where a filthy man lay in a bed of straw. His clothes were ripped and torn in many places, and blood speckled his chest and beard. His matted gray hair was littered with twigs and straw.

A figure appeared at the entrance to the cave, wearing faded blue wizard's robes and holding a wand extended in his right hand. The man's hair was disheveled, and he looked as if he had not shaved or slept in weeks. Waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the grotto, the man stared down at the sleeping animal.

"Fenrir," he shouted loudly, keeping a safe distance from the beast.

It was a good decision. The man on the straw leapt from his bed, growling and gnashing his teeth.

"Calm down," the man said. "It's over. The moon isn't out any more."

"Too bad," Fenrir said, rubbing his eyes with his yellow claws. "I had fun last night Grendel. Another has joined our ranks."

"Why a child?" Grendel asked, immediately regretting it.

"Why not?" Fenrir roared, advancing on Grendel. "Anyone and everyone. I don't need to explain it again to you do I?"

"No, I just…"

But Grendel apparently couldn't think of a way to safely finish the sentence, preferring instead to trail off into silence.

"Soon," Fenrir said with a murderous gleam in his eye. "Soon they'll be enough of us. Soon we'll have the freedom we deserve…and all the blood we desire."

Grendel tried in vain to suppress a gag that thankfully didn't erupt until Fenrir turned away. Wondering to himself why he continued to follow a blood crazy lunatic, and wishing he had left him for the authorities when he had the chance, Grendel turned and fled the lair as quickly as he dared.