--The thick undergrowth rustled as Grif Kaedah’s machete cut a path through. His beard was green with leaves caught in it, and his bushy unibrow was crumpled up into a frown. Isla walked behind him, supporting herself with an improvised crutch. Her dress was wet, stained with blood and torn below the knees, its scraps used to bandage the cuts inflicted by Orin’s blades. The pair walked about in silence for some time, until Isla disturbed it.

-We’re going around in circles.

-I know. – Grif grumbled.

-You don’t lose your way around these forests. Why are we going around in circles?

-Because I haven’t decided yet if I’m taking you back to the castle or not.

-I can’t go back there.

-Sure you can. And perhaps you ought to.

-I told you what happened.

-And I still can’t believe it. Please tell me you have anything, any sort of proof that Venceslav is behind the prince’s disappearance.

-I don’t, but I know who will. I would bet my neck that she knows something. Lana, his niece.

-The way I see it, you’re acting out some sort of misguided vendetta against the Sashels.

-Seagull turd. – Isla spat like a hoodlum. – Come on. Asking me to meet him in the middle of the night? And asking me to kill my master? The same night Tristan goes missing.

-I don’t believe it.

-If you didn’t believe me, we’d already be back at the castle.

-That’s different, that’s just me being a sentimental fool. I… I raised you, you mad girl. Well, partly at least. I’ve seen you grow from a little sapling into a lovely birch tree.

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-My mother raised me. And please don’t start with the woodland metaphors, they always spiral out into nonsense.

--Grif suddenly stopped and turned around to stare Isla down, almost causing her to stumble into him. He was biting his lower lip and his face was red. He blew steam out his nose, turned back around and swung his machete vigorously, cutting down an unsuspecting bush of wild berries.

-Fine. Something is afoot, madling. If we’re going to find Tristan, then sniffing needs to be done. And you and I are both terrible at it. Lucky for us, I have an old friend in Bartertown who might be able to help…

-Bartertown?? We’re not going to Bartertown.

-By the one god… Yes we are.

-If we do, we will not be able to get to Lana Sashel again.

-Get to… what do you mean get to Lana Sashel?

-I mean, I know where she’s going to be. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after tomorrow… But soon.

--Grif looked into Isla’s eyes silently.

-No… - Grif shook his head.

-Yes.

-You’re joking madling, surely?

-I’m dead serious. Ok, that pun was unintended.

-You’ve gone insane.

-Think about it! She doesn’t leave the castle, except to wander the capitol. Both the castle and the city are swarming with guards. But guess when there won’t be too many guards around… Out in the open, with anywhere to escape.

-That is… no, you disgust me. – Grif threw his hands in the air.

-At the funeral.

-Can you even hear yourself talk? You just killed her uncle. The poor bird is probably still warm. And now you’re talking about getting his niece at his funeral.

-Tristan needs us! God only knows where he is. I pray that they have him in a dungeon somewhere, that they have some purpose for him, alive. And if they do, that spoiled bitch will know.

-Why would the cunning bird share his plans with his niece, of all people?

-I don't know if he would, but even if he didn't, she is always snooping. She must know something.

-You are reaching Isla.

-So what if I am!? Think about it! If we don’t find him in the next few days, or some clue as to where he is, he is gone! We don’t have time to go to Bartertown for you to chit-chat with your old pals! We don’t even have time to be standing around here, arguing!

-You fool. You bloody mad fool. Lunatic, belligerent murderer...

--Grif paced in circles, gripping his machete. Finally, he pointed it at Isla and spoke.

-Fine. But if you harm the girl. I will snuff you out like a candle. I pray to the one god that my heart is not wrong about this, and that he may forgive me one day for listening to this madness.

-We need her alive. – Isla grabbed the tip of Grif’s machete and pushed it aside.

-Tell me then, madling. How do you intend to get close to Lana, at her uncle's bloody funeral, with a host of bloody nobles and bloody King’s guards marching about? – Grif turned around and continued to walk.

-Well, I do have an idea about that. It’s simple really. All we need to do is… Hide in the church on Hamelin’s hill. Think about it. They’re sure to bury Venceslav on Hamelin’s hill. That’s where all the nobles are buried. All I need to do is steal one monk’s robe from their monastery. And the place is big enough that I’ll be able to get about fairly well. And you don’t even need a disguise really.

-Straight from murder to robbing monks… The work of mad bastards.

-We can do it. Master David will be at the funeral, he’ll help us. If he’s still alive.

-Bloody mad.

-Grif… - Isla grabbed Grif’s arm and stopped him.

-What?

-Please stop calling me mad. Trust me old man. I… I’m not proud about what I’ve done. But I’m right about this. And I can’t do it without you.

-I don’t know which one of us is madder.

-Please don’t say that. I’ve heard people say that too many times about my mother. Trust me Grif. Tristan needs us. – Isla offered her hand to him.

-I don’t know what I believe. But… I will help you. – Grif replied, and he shook Isla’s hand, his brow now heavy and wrinkled with worry.

***