A dirt path wended deep into the grove, its unpaved surface smooth and clear. Hazel and maple trees formed a wooden screen, obscuring any pond that might lie within. Underbrush clung to the trees. Shadows stretched long. Twilight reigned supreme. In spite of the charnel field just fifty yards away, the air felt peaceful within the grove. This was a world apart.

Strangely, the churning in Titus's stomach faded as they left the hellyard behind them. With every passing step, the feeling of horror slid deeper and deeper into the shadowy corners of his heart. He was glad to leave the fit of weakness behind.

Lavonius walked ahead of him. The bard had stripped away his head-covering with the setting of the sun. He now walked with the same cock-sure gait Titus had grown to associate with his erstwhile companion. The sweet air must have given him fresh energy.

The young man carefully scanned the area around them. Various bushes and ferns clung to the densely packed trees. The path led into the heart of the grove, where lay the pond and its gargantuan leafy guardian.

The path led them through several twists and turns. From afar, the grove looked to be a small copse of trees, perhaps three dozen yards across. The path, however, seemed to stretch far longer than it had a right to.

Eventually, a broad clearing opened before them. Bright flowers bespeckled green grass. At the field's end was a pond, with a massive redwood behind it. The tree seemed to stretch into infinity, its impossibly tall branches reaching into the very heavens. Its trunk was wider than a castle tower, and its broad roots tunneled deep.

The Guardian scanned the clearing's edge. Nothing was amiss. Nothing even felt amiss. Shouldn't something be amiss after what he'd just seen? The air was wrong here. It was too peaceful. Violence was needed.

Lavonius strode blithely onward.

After another moment's hesitation, Titus led Pulkra to the pond. She lapped greedily at the pond water. As she did so, Titus pulled a clay jar from her saddlebags and filled it with roughly a gallon of water. He then pulled a wineskin from her saddlebags, only to come up short as his companion's voice warmed the air.

“I would recommend you taste it first. You shall find no water more pure or delicious than that of a grove such as this.” The bard peered at a peculiar portion of the redwood's trunk, his back turned to Titus.

The boy squinted at the back of his head before taking a sip of the undiluted water. It tasted of sunlight and maple. It tasted of fresh leaves and spring. It tasted of life. For the first time since leaving home, the tension left Titus's body.

His eyes narrowed. He should feel something. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that he should feel something in this moment. Instead, his heart was empty. A void lurked within.

Meanwhile, Lavonius considered the ancient redwood closely. His eyes lingered on certain patterns in the bark, reading a hidden meaning that his companion could not. He spent long enough studying the bark for his companion to wander over, jar of water in hand. Titus could find no meaning hidden in the tree's hard skin, and wondered at what the loremaster saw.

“I do so enjoy their little game...” the bard murmured before sitting on a small boulder embedded into the ground nearby. He pulled a set of banded pipes from a pouch at his side. Titus hadn't even noticed them. They seemed to be made of half a dozen intricately carved wooden straws bound together by a spine of firm wood. He had never seen their like.

I know you have a poor opinion of the pan flute, my good librarian, but you know as well as I of the peculiar tastes of woodland folk. A good musician caters to his audience.

The bard played.

Titus stared.

Lavonius had his lips pursed as he blew air across the top of the pan flute, moving his lips to a different pipe with every note.

The bard's song was rich and complex, each note interweaving with the last. The songs itself seemed to sparkle.

Every note resonated far more than such a little instrument ought to. Titus could almost see strands of orange and yellow drifting through the air. Dancing lines wove an intricate pattern before fading away as quickly as they came.

In the midst of the yellows and oranges, a single strand of discordant blue arose - only for the yellow and the orange to welcome it into their dance, turning its every effort at chaos to their own ends. The dancing colours conjured images of deer prancing through meadows. They crafted thoughts of squirrels playing.

The song shifted. It began to conjure primal urges that the civilized pretend they have overcome. Images flashed through Titus's mind of things he thought shameful and indecent. He blushed, but couldn't bring himself to look away. It was just in his head after all - it's only indecent if it's out in the open.

Just as quickly as the music began, it drifted away into nothing. Lavonius took the flute from his lips, and set them in his lap. He looked over at Titus with a knowing look. Titus blushed, and gathered his wits about him.

“I've never heard such music before. You continue to surprise me, loremaster.”

Lavonius simply smiled knowingly, and put a single finger to his lips. Titus cocked an eyebrow. A soft wind rustled the trees.

Lavonius's eyes settled on a cluster of trees to his right. Titus saw nothing. They waited.

The young man went to speak, only to be shushed by his companion.

They waited some more. Titus's feet began to itch. When darkness reigned supreme and the sun's setting was complete, they appeared. Out stepped a trio of the most eerily beautiful women Titus had ever seen.

Something about them unsettled the boy, though he couldn't quite finger it. Something was wrong with them. Perhaps it was the strange patterns dancing across their skin, entirely unlike any tattoo he had seen. Or the way they glided out of the trees, each step covering twice the distance that it ought to. Perhaps it was the look of desire and hunger in their faces. Or perhaps it was the vertical pupils.

Lavonius stood and bowed theatrically. He greeted them with his usual warmth, and they, in turn, physically embraced him. Titus was struck with the familiarity. They crooned a strange greeting, though Titus couldn't quite make out the words. Something about the embrace of grass.

The tallest stood well over seven feet tall, her skin a reddish-brown. Her face had a queenly look to it, as though she were a mother keeping careful watch over a litter of royal children. She grabbed the bard's face and planted a kiss on his lips. He kissed back rather hungrily.

Titus shuffled his feet uncomfortably. His cheeks flushed. Such things were best done behind closed doors. He had been raised with very strict rules about the proper time to display affection.

One of the three women was only as tall as Titus's waist, though she had the proportions and face of a woman. Her skin was pale, and her hair the color of a fire's heart. She looked to be somewhere between nineteen and ninety years old. She was the first to notice his presence. With a squeak of fear, she hid behind the legs of her sisters.

The other two jumped and turned toward the Guardian as though he'd suddenly sprung from hiding. They regarded him shyly. Each seemed afraid to speak, though they had been so liberal with their affections just a moment before.

Lavonius stepped between the women and the object of their timidity.

“How could I forget my manners?” He spoke theatrically, as though announcing the arrival of the King himself,” Titus Miloka Julianus, I present to you the Nymphs of this grove: Sequoia, Corylus, and Aker.”

Titus took a deep breath. “Blessings of the Architect be upon you,” he managed to keep his voice steady.

“My ladies, it is my pleasure to inform you that I regard Titus as an honorable and trustworthy man. I daresay I shall call him friend ere the month is out”- The Loremaster approached Titus, his voice falling to a barely audible whisper -” their customs are strange, but they are warm hosts. You've heard the stories. Know that some of them hold true.”

The boy's eyes widened. You know well, my dear friend, the strange tales that men tell of Nymphs. Our protagonist had heard tales of Sea Nymphs and Wood Nymphs, Nymphs of the air and Nymphs of the land. Some tales spoke of men and Nymphs marrying. Others spoke of human sacrifice, of insane demands and the savagery of an angry Dryad. Still others spoke of the wild feasts thrown by Tam, Weaver of Earth, and the orgies that ensued.

The bard had said that only some of the stories held true. Titus hoped it was so.

The three Nymphs wordlessly studied him. They found the sight of a stranger equal parts exciting and terrifying. Their alien eyes swept up, down and up again. The middle sister, fair of hair with olive skin, hugged herself and debated in her head whether she ought to move closer or flee. The shortest one licked her lips, then shook herself and hid behind her larger sister. After much trepidation, they collectively approached him.

Titus almost jumped out of his skin when the tall one rubbed her nose against his own.

“The grass smiles at your coming,” her voice was the sound of a cool autumn breeze as it rustles the treetops.

The other two sisters rubbed noses with Titus in turn, each of them repeating the strange greeting in their sing-song tones. Titus stood stock-still. He wasn't sure if he could defeat a dryad, and thought it best to let their customs play out; moreover, the thought of offending his hosts mortified him.

The sisters were shy, but seemed to regard Lavonius with a certain... erotic warmth that clashed with the boy's sensibilities. He found their handsiness entirely improper.

The bard, meanwhile, had no such compunctions. While Titus built a fire, Lavonius flirted with the Nymphs in ways that only a poet can. He wove flattering compliments with suggestions of things that might make a prostitute blush. Titus tried to hide his consternation as he stacked the firewood.

The young man didn't know where the little pile of dead branches had come from, but assumed it had materialized along with the three sisters. A sliver of flame sprang from his finger, and he lit the fire.

In short order, the five of them were seated about the fire. Titus cracked a few sarcastic quips, seemingly endearing himself to the three sisters, but otherwise kept silent while the loremaster entertained their hosts. The loremaster's idea of being a good guest seemed to involve a fair bit more innuendo than Titus had heard in the whole of his life.

The dwarfish sister, scarcely taller than three feet, seemed to take a liking to the young man, and sat disconcertingly close. Lavonius had called her Aker.

Sequoia, the tall one, had her eyes all but glued to the bard. She gazed at him with the look of an old lover, though Lavonius claimed this was only his second time passing through this grove. Her and the middle sister, Corylus, sat on either side of him.

Titus resolved never to shame himself so. He studiously ignored the small woman inching ever so slightly closer when she thought he couldn't see.

After what felt an eternity of listening to his incessant flirting, the pale man finally turned conversation to matters not entirely shameful, though Titus found himself wishing he hadn't. The Faceless Men.

Funnily enough, Titus had all but forgotten the things he'd witnessed earlier in the day. It was as though some unseen hand had hidden the thought of them from view. Almost like the grove itself didn't want to hear of it, and had reached into the boy's mind to ensure he couldn't speak of the horror.

“To no little dismay, I'm afraid I must ask you of something truly terrible.” The loremaster's adopted his most dramatic tone of voice,” before entering your idyllic home, my companion and I witnessed a sight the likes of which would chill the stoutest hearts. I think you know of what I speak.”

The air grew cold. Smiles froze on oddly colored faces. The three sisters collectively breathed a heavy sigh.

The tallest sister spoke first. “We wish there was something we could have done for them.”

“You needn't apologize, Sequoia,” Lavonius said,” were there aught you could do, I know you would have. They were beyond the edge of your grove.”

“The Stone Men might not seek out the Elder Races, but it pains me to see what they do to the younger ones,” Sequoia said.

“My sweet Dryad, I just asked you not to apologize. I despise the sight of guilt on your beautiful face.”

Something in Titus snapped, and he returned to his right mind,” As the loremaster says, we don't care for apologies. Did you see where they went? How many were they? How long ago did they leave? Are they travelling fast?”

A cool hand settled on Titus's shoulder. His shoulders relaxed, and his gaze softened. What had gotten into him? He was being rude. How shameful to disrespect their hosts.

“As my eager companion so boldly declared, any information you can provide would be highly appreciated. We are eager to avenge those poor souls whose remains we witnessed.”

Aker scooted closer to Titus. She said,“ they appeared like a lightning strike. One moment, I was watching the humans walking along-” she paused. With a trembling breath, she continued” the next I was watching a slaughter. I was helpless as a newborn squirrel.”

Sequoia's eyes, alien though they were, betrayed a very human degree of worry,” Aker, I will never understand why you care so for the lives of mortals. You will find no end of heartache from it.” She looked at Titus,” I only saw the aftermath. Although I do not share my sister's tender heart, the things the Stone Men did to those corpses”- she shuddered, and a pair of horizontal eyelids slicked shut -”bones snapped like tinder, bodies forced into unnatural shapes”- her eyes snapped open once more -”most of the humans were still alive when their bodies were defiled.”

They fell into silence. Titus's mind was cast back to the things he'd witnessed scant hours before. It felt wrong to break the silence.

Titus cleared his throat. “Thank you, my Lady,” he said,” their tracks led further down the road. Do you know where they went?”

“The Stone Men are wasps in search of prey,” Aker said. When had her tiny hand appeared on Titus's knee? He wanted to brush it away, but something stopped him. Part of him liked it.

“If I know you, my sweet, you will be off in the morning,” Sequoia said, this time looking at the bard,” I can ask the birds to find them, but it will take too long for your liking. The Stone Men will seek out the nearest prey, and we both know where that lies.”

Titus was puzzled,” I admit, I've never heard of a band so large, but Crossville will have walls and sentries. The Faceless Men would never strike somewhere so heavily defended.”

“They won't. They'll bypass it and continue ambushing travelers. I don't know if I should feel relieved or worried,” Lavonius said.

“How could you possibly feel relieved?”

“I suppose I oughtn't be surprised you don't know. How could you, after all?”

“Speak plainly.”

“Cyrus is gathering a large host in Tolmepolis, ostensibly to launch a campaign against the Hill Tribes. The first of the messengers left shortly after I did - doubtless, one of them was among the poor souls in that hellyard we stumbled onto.”

“I see.” He did not.

“Cyrus's captains are glory-hounds, but well-loved by their men. The moment word reaches the Governor's Palace, they will gather a force of picked men. They'll start a hunt they are ill-equipped for. I can think of several who are wholly indispensable. All it would take is one ambuscade, and Cyrus's whole campaign could be cast into doubt.”

“What does it matter? The Hill Men are always at war with one governor or another.”

The bard's smile was thin,” it doesn't, my boy. Don't worry about it.”

“Answer the question.”

Lavonius exchanged looks with their hosts. “The Governor's men will handle this one, my boy. You have your own mission to worry about.”

“There will be messenger pigeons at Crossville. This is my mission now.”

“Sequoia, my sweet. Do you remember those incredible donuts we had the last time I saw you?”

“Lavonius!”

“Of course, handsome,” Sequoia replied. As though at some unseen signal, the three sisters went back to poking and prodding at their guests. Titus tried to bring them back to the Faceless Men, but his hosts wouldn't engage with it again. He grit his teeth. What was the bard hiding? Why were the Dryads going along with it?

The middle sister, Corylus her name was, handed little circular pastries around the fire. Hanno had baked a variety of pastries, but these were largely alien to Titus.

He tried, and failed, to be angry. Everything here was just too damn pleasant. He felt glad every time one of the sisters even so much as looked at him. It wasn't right. He forgot why he wanted to be angry.

He even found himself chatting along with the rest of them, though he refused to sink to base flirting like Lavonius did. Well, maybe just one or two comments, but it wasn't the same! He was far less indecent.

He liked Aker's laugh. It was entirely unrestrained. It was free. Titus hoped he could laugh like that someday. When was the last time he'd laughed? He couldn't remember.

Titus's eyes grew sluggish, though their hosts showed no signs of slowing, much less Lavonius. Aker lay her head on his shoulder. She had grown quiet, though her sisters were engaged in animated debate on the merits of songbirds. When had his head gotten so heavy? He leaned his head on Aker's. His eyes fell shut.

A vast crater. A mountain floats overhead. A hawk swoops beneath the mountain. It settles in the crater's heart. It looks up.

A great castle is built into the underside of the mountain, a village nestled against the castle's walls. The castle's walls are firm and unbreakable. Defenders patrol the battlements, their faces familiar to the hawk.

Hundreds of people go about their business, walking through alleys and streets. They seem entirely unaware of the ground above them, or the fact that their feet are pointing the wrong way.

The hawk tilts its head. It blinks. It recognizes Hanno the baker. And there's Crassus the drunkard. And that's Severus. Who is Severus?

Screams ring out from one end of the village. A woman's cry. Then a child's. Shadowy figures fall upon the village, cleavers in hand. The shadows are a tide that sweeps through the village streets.

Heads roll. Fire leaps from house to house. Moaning. Screaming. Agony.

The hawk recognizes a boy's face. Brother. Severus. Severus meets the Hawk's gaze.

“Why aren't you here? We need you! Why aren't you here?” Severus grabs the Hawk by its shoulders. The hawk is in the castle.

It tries to answer him. To say something, anything at all. It merely squawks.

Flames engulf them. Pain. All-encompassing pain. The skin blisters from Severus's hands. His flesh blackens and peels. His skeletal hands cling tightly to the hawk. He shakes it viciously.

“We need you! Why aren't you here? You should be here! You should have been there!”

“You should have been there!”

Titus jerks awake. His head lies in a woman's lap. Someone is moaning. A soft hand strokes his hair.

His eyes open. He sees a thin man and two women locked in a vigorous embrace. They moan in a strange language, each word an autumn leaf floating on the breeze. He feels a stirring in his loins. He wants to join them. His mind is delightfully cloudy.

He looks up, and a woman's face looks down at him. Her name escapes him. She is oddly small, like a dwarf in a story. Her eyes are alien and cat-like, her hair is afire, her touch sweeter than it has a right to be.

She is worried. About him? Why is she worried? He doesn't want her to worry. He touches her face. He says words in a language he can't remember.

She leans down. Her lips are warm and soft. She tastes of maple.

He and the stranger fall to the soft earth. Clothes fall away. Her skin is deliciously smooth. Somebody groans, he's not sure who. Moaning. Words in a strange language, their primal meaning now obvious.

She gasps. He growls. Her fingernails dig into his back. Pain and pleasure. Pleasure and pain. Thrusting. A carnal whisper.

Her body writhes beneath him. She is warm. Wet. Excited. Screaming - in pleasure, this time.

Release. Blissful release. Her body is shaking. The clouds in his head clear, yet there is no thought. She is shaking. Her vertical pupils have tripled in size as though she were high. They cling one to the other.

So passed the night.