A heist. Of all the jobs they could possibly have been hired for, it had to be a fucking heist. Willard hated thieves. Almost as much as he hated mercenaries. Funny then how it seemed life was constantly conspiring to turn him into both. Complicating matters more, he was now tasked with doing his part for the plan, all the while dodging the thrown explosives of a pack of bloody spellslingers. Willard hated mages.

He reined in his horse, pulling up short and to the side, narrowly avoiding the small explosion which took place right in front of him. “Fucking mages!” He growled through gritted teeth, dust and smoke stinging his eyes, and making it bloody hard for him to breath.    

[i]"Watch those bombs, boy!" [/i] He heard the pirate, Covell, bark at him.

But too late, as the next thing he was aware of was a shower of fire and death. He and his horse were sent flying and tumbling through the air, as three bombs exploded, nearly simultaneously, right underneath him. Ill luck for the young Willard Cavanaugh, or was it...

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He rose slowly to his feet, every last inch of him aching from the fall. Of course his horse was dead, the poor black mare blown to Kingdom Come as she was. Fortunately for him, she had caught the brunt of the impact, which was probably what had saved his life. But now he was alone, miles from civilization, his comrades and the carriages they were chasing long gone. 

“Shit,” He swore out-loud, more for his own sake than any other. 

He torn the bit of ragged, sweat-stained linen he wore from about his face and tossed in on the ground. Then he started to walk, hopefully in the same direction his “friends” had been going. He knew he had no chance of actually catching them, not on foot as he was now was. But at the very least, he thought, once they were finished, one of them would surly come looking for him. That last thought made him laugh. They probably thought he was dead, or worse. Most of them most likely relished the thought, evil bastards that they were. Still, they and the others of Black Lily were closest he had to kin anymore, and he would rejoin them by any means necessary.

He was jarred from his contemplation by a rustling in the underbrush, and at first he feared it was some beast attracted by the earlier magical discharge. Never in all his life was he more relieved to see a horse, as he was when the buckskin stallion stepped into view, Amara's saddle still strapped to his back. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to whatever powers may have brought him such good fortune, as he swung up onto the gift horse's back. A good, hard kick. and a snap of the reigns, and he and his newly acquired steed were racing off along the trail. 

He was confident he would soon catch up with the others now.