Around 6:45 p.m.
I hope they've made it to safety...
Fierro had been walking for around thirty minutes, in the opposite direction as the Professor and the fragile girl. He wondered for a moment if he'd made a grave mistake, leaving them to escape alone. If they stayed in a group there would be strength in numbers; he would be able to protect them if whatever beasts that were heading toward them decided to change course and follow them. Lenor didn't seem much like a fighter, but he seemed smart enough to be able to maneuver out of the way of danger.
He'd made his way along the dirt and gravel road, a path that he knew lead towards a lake, a nice and peaceful clearing he once made a regular spot when he and his late wife were still married, let alone on talking terms. It was early on in their marriage, the honeymoon phase, when things were lighter and simply put: happier. The thing about traveling alone left Fierro to get lost in his own mind, wandering in his own memories, both recent and distant. He wondered if Kara was safe. He worried about Berenice, and if they would meet again—if she would even remember who he was. Part of him hoped not, since their final exchange at the school left her frightened, due to the fact that his wife came out of whatever hell-box she'd been hiding in and sought out to torture him even now, punish him psychologically, as if he hadn't already felt pathetic for realizing what horrible things he committed as William's right hand. The Minister of Magic.
That title would be with him forever, but so would fugitive, making him a target worth taking down for ransom or for sport.
Then he thought of Azkaban, recalling those last moments he spent as Minister. Williams had forced him to torture his own daughter. Step-daughter or not, she didn't deserve that punishment. She didn't deserve any more scars than she had already accrued in the many years fighting off his fiends. But why then? Why, after all of the cruel and unusual punishments that he had administered over time, did he decide that he couldn't do it anymore? Kara was a reminder that his wife had betrayed him. His daughter wasn't his...she belonged to a different bloodline, not his.
Fierro didn't realize how dehydrated he was until he breathed through his mouth, of exhaustion and exasperation. He swallowed, hard, and kept walking, listening close for anyone following behind him.
A twig snapped behind him, and so he stopped, ducking behind the trunk of a tree. His heart started to race, his breathing labored and painful in his dry throat.
Had the hounds found their way to him?