Mjel ran among the trees, war hammer striped to her back. No light shed guidance among the eerie shadows of the trees, the hostility of the darkness prevailing the forest was palpable. Thoughts of a prayer and—she realised with a loss of hope—gratitude formed in her mind towards the Gods for the untold guidance with which her legs carried her blindly.

Let us wait with that. I need to find those dumbwits first.

She had just made a mental bow before her unswaying balance and stability during her breakneck sprint in the dark when she solemnly tumbled and fell in … something big. She quickly knelt up, grabbed her hammer, and prepared for an encounter. In vain, though, since the obstacle in her way was already dead. And hairy. And smelt repugnant.

Mjel stood. She did not bother with inspecting the carcass without any light. Facts spoke more than anything she could see. There was a carcass of a beast in the forest. Judging by the smell, it must have been freshly slain. There was no other monster gnawing at its remains. Conclusion: Vardille.

Faint red lights glowing ahead made her stop. Hammer at the ready, chest heaving from the exertion, she bit her lips. Dawn was still a long way. Those lights could only mean the demons and their abhorrent horde. Even if that was a vanguard and their night sentries, Mjel thought twice before rushing among them.

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Shadows stirred a couple hundred feet away from her. She crouched, heart nearly ripping from her chest. She stared but her eyes rejected the reality she saw—even though the night only let her spot mere silhouettes of the monstrosities. Mjel sneaked farther away, hiding among the roots of a tremendous tree.

Vardille was nowhere to be seen. Sallan neither. Bryne, that is. No longer were they keeping up this masquerade. If the demons caught any of them, they were lost. It was doubtless.

And why does that concern us exactly?

Mjel breathed out, long, slow, trembling. They could leave. She could very well turn around and follow the band. Ida said Bryne was about to give them some time. The message had already been given to the king anyway. They could reach that town called Ithlien. They could reach Grospan. Give the woman the message. Be done with this. Leave the island and get home. Alive.

And leave Vardille to his demise.

The memory of a bluebreast trilling above the still surface of glistening water flashed before her eyes. Water pouring into her neck, her splashing and swimming like a child.

What was the last time she laughed? Like, laughed, carelessly, happily?

Mjel grabbed the hammer and turned back to the demons. She sneaked. Silent, cautious.

She would find a way.