Ravens [Dreamnotfound/Gream]

1. In the wrong place at the wrong time

As the years changed, so did Clay and George. Clay grew into a handsome young man, thriving with his family in the nearby town. His light blonde hair turned brown but he resembled his father nevertheless. They had the same striking green eyes and light freckles on their cheeks, strong jawline and sharp eyebrows arched upwards. He inherited his mother's wavy hair and determination, as well as her smarts and stubborness.

Every day Clay would go hunting into the forest nearby the town, for he was very skilled with the bow. He would later sell the food for money and other goods, usually outsmarting the buyer and profiting way more. Clay was way too smart.

George grew up in the town he was born in, taking the role of a guard when he turned eighteen. He worked closely with some other guards and sheriffs, who he was friends with reluctantly. One of them was a young reckless man with black hair and dark eyes, who went by the name Nick. He was a sheriff, despite how young he was. Another guard George worked with was a quieter man with brown hair and green eyes. He was two years older than him and was called Darryl.

Of course they had nicknames they went by when in work or trying to catch criminals. George thought it was rather ridiculous, that he was supposed to refer to Nick as 'Sapnap' and to Darryl as 'Bad', but he didn't argue.

It was the beginning of a new day and Clay decided to go visit some nearby towns to trade with the other merchants. He kissed his mother's cheek goodbye, earning a side hug from his father. He left the house with a crate full of goods, his trusty bow slung around his shoulder, as he marched towards the town.

He walked on a muddy path, passing spruce trees and big fields growing crops. The birds were chirping as he walked past the forest and made his way into a clearing. After about a half hour of walking, he saw the town. He realised it was his home town when he approached it, remembering the familiar surroundings. He walked through the town, setting his crate down and trading with the citizens. It didn't take long until he had made several good trades. This was easier than he thought.

After he was done with trading, he decided to have a look around the town. He hadn't been there for fifteen years and Clay had some time to spare. Clay walked down the neat brick path, examining the houses. Not much has changed. He walked past the fields that once grew dandelions, making his way to the old well which was still standing there. It even had the crack on the side of the stone wall.

He ran his finger through it, tracing it back to the top and moving along, feeling waves of nostalgia wash over him. He walked for a few more minutes before approaching a very familiar house. It was George's. Believe it or not, Clay hasn't forgotten about George even though he was more than positive that George has. He approached the tree they would always hang around, smiling involuntarily.

He sat down underneath the tree, taking out an apple and biting into it, feeling the soft breeze tickle his face. Pressing the back of his head against the tree, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sun heating his skin. It was almost scary how nostlagic that place felt.

When he finished eating the apple, Clay got up and was about to head back, but then he heard a yell. It was very strained and weak, but a yell nevertheless. Clay cocked his head to the direction of the noise. It was coming from a tiny house. He hesitated before curiously peeking in, seeing a man on the floor.

Clay raised an eyebrow when he approached him, staring down at the body. It didn't seem to be moving but he swore he heard him just then. He turned him over, his hands getting stained in crimson. He shifted his gaze onto the body, trying to figure out what happened to him. Clay noticed a dagger sticking out from the side, picking it up and examining it carefully. He then looked back at the man. He was dead.

He got up and stared down at his hands. His eyes widened when he realised what he's done. There was no way anyone wouldn't suspect him murdering the man. He swore under his breath, wiping his hands on the leather of the man's tunic. His hands were still red. Not as vibrant though.

He exhaled but then to his dismay, the doors opened, an older woman walking in and gasping. Clay froze, his eyes widening. "It's not what it looks like," Clay breathed out, his hands shaking slightly. The woman shook her head, fear coursing through her veins. She backed away ever so slowly, holding her arms in front of her. Clay's expression shifted, shaking his head, but the woman gave him a scared glance before turning away.

"Murder!" she screamed, a panic rising in the atmosphere. Clay could hear doors opening and people murmuring. He had to act fast. He stuck his hand into the dead corpse, grabbing the knife and darting out of the window in the back of the house. "Murder! Please someone help!"

Clay was already gone when a few guards approached the house, examining the dead body and inquiring the woman, who was sobbing quietly.

Clay's mind was running. He couldn't return back to his parents - if the guards somehow recognised him, who knows what they would do to his parents. He was still running, not even in the direction of his village. He was deep in the forest, because he realised he had a better chance of survival where there weren't any people.

He made his way down a stream, sitting down on a boulder and pressing his face into his hands. This was insane.

He examined the knife he nicked earlier, making sure to clean it before using it to hunt for animals. It was drenched in dried blood. Clay sighed, putting the knife into the running water, cleaning it slowly.

Clay was trying to think of a plan. If he came back he would certainly get killed, innocent or not. There was no doubt in that. But he couldn't stay in the forest forever. There was one thing he did know, however.

He had hope. And sometimes, that's all you need.