The Mistbeast of Blackwood Forest

By Emma Schouten

Emma has grown up in the French countryside despite being Dutch, but decided to start writing stories in English just because she could. Her time is divided between welcoming guests at work, writing stories at home and reading books everywhere. And her six cats, of course.

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Lin. A little town at the edge of Blackwood Forest, lost in the outreaches of Voyenne, and home to less than two thousand people. The entire economy here relied on the hunting of animals and the collecting of rare plants. Furs would be traded for other goods from all over the Voyenne, the plants would be exclusively sold to the mages of Troye.

What Feyre saw did not impress her in the slightest.

Lin. A cluster of houses built haphazardly on the shores of the Grande Elle River, looking as prosperous as any town haunted by a mysterious beast. Dusk had painted the sky in vivid tangerine, soft peach, and darker magenta, before gradually slipping into the dark blue of the approaching night by the time Feyre made it into town. In the failing light, she watched, intrigued and perplexed, as people hastened down emptying streets. Shutters were closed and doors locked. Only a few had noticed her crossing the bridge into town, none paid any attention to the great pine forest that surrounded the town on three sides.

Feyre guided her horse through a muddy street to a square. A well stood at its center, with benches arranged around it in a circle. Flower pots added a touch of color, though they were wilted. The houses that lined the square were mostly dark, all lights hidden behind wooden shutters. A few had a sign above their doors; a baker and a butcher, a blacksmith and, there, tucked away between two more prominent buildings, an inn.

She made for it. Feyre had visited a number of inns over the years; it could not be avoided when one traveled as much as a Shadow did. Never, in her six years on the road, however, had she seen one so quiet; especially one that doubled as the local tavern. No noise drifted out of the building. The windows were shut tight and no patrons walked in and out, singing and shouting.

Feyre’s feet landed on the ground with a dull thud that resonated loudly in the quietness. She tied the horse to a post and headed inside.

Only the smell of alcohol greeted her at the door. The drinking room was nearly empty, a few men, both young and old, sat scattered throughout the room. They sat quietly, focused on their own drinks. A man stood behind the bar, wiping down its surface, and a barmaid hovered watchfully at the other end. No one looked up, but Feyre was certain her entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She approached the bar and cleared her throat. The barman flung his rag over his shoulder and looked her up and down. She watched as he took in the cloak as black as night, the black shirt and the brown doublet. She saw his eyes glide over the crisscrossing leather straps on her chest, which held at least three throwing knives in clear view. They continued down over the dark leather pants and the weapons belt around her hips holding more weapons.

His wide eyes traveled back up to her face; she waited for the man to get over the shock of coming face to face with a Shadow. “What can I do for you, miss Shadow?”

Feyre would never get used to the tremble in a grown man’s voice at the mere sight of her. She was not particularly tall. Her long ginger hair and a face full of freckles were not what she considered particularly frightening either. Yet, the sight of the dark clothes and the weapons, each stamped with the Shadows’ crest, announced what she was as well as any herald.

“I would like a room.”

“Certainly,” he nodded frantically, then called the maid. The sudden noise and activity had caught the attention of the other patrons. Their eyes bore into her back. The maid exchanged a few whispered words with the man before she disappeared up a set of stairs. “You will have to forgive us for not having a room ready. We don’t get many travelers in these parts, you see.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have a glass of mead while I wait.” The road to Lin had been long.

She dropped onto the nearest stool, studiously ignoring the eyes on her back. The barman served her a tall glass of pale mead with a shaky hand. “Thank you kindly,” she told him as she accepted the glass. While Feyre never set out to spook the locals, she had discovered years ago it gave her a sense of pleasure; a little light in the dark business of a Shadow. “I have a horse outside; are there stables where I could house it?”

“Of course, we have them around back. I’ll take care of it right now.”

The man left in a great hurry, allowing the Shadow to enjoy her drink without his fearful gaze trained on her. Sure, the others still watched her, but she could ignore them. Or, at least, she would have.

A man dropped into the seat next to her.

She turned her head to him curiously as she drank. He was one of the younger men. The summer sun had tanned his skin and had bleached his hair to gold. But his eyes caught her attention; he had eyes the color of Arncaster Lake at high noon. Both blue and green, yet neither. Here was a child of summer if she had ever seen one.

He could be no more than twenty-five. Those shocking blue eyes flitted back and forth between her face, her empty hand on the edge of the bar, and the knives strapped to her chest - at least, she hoped they focused on the knives. A light stubble covered his chin and cheeks. He folded his bare forearms on the bar and leaned forward a little, gaining a clearer look at her face. She looked him in the eye, wondering if he would be bold enough to hold her gaze.

As it turned out, he was.

“Are you here to deal with the Mistbeast?”

She arched an eyebrow; it was indeed the name the Lightless had given her for the beast they had sent her to deal with, though they greatly disliked folktale names. She nodded. The young man’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief.

“You could have come sooner,” one of the other men called out.

Turning in her seat, she stared unwaveringly at the man. It would take little more than the blink of an eye, she mused. She could be out of her seat and at his side with a knife pressed to his throat in a snap. It would frighten him and allow her to work in peace. Instead, she opted for the second option. “I could leave again, if you are not happy with me,” she suggested. “Please feel free to file a complaint with the Order of Shadows.”

Feyre moved to rise from her seat. The one beside her grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. Her eyes shot to him, sliding down to his hand on her. He promptly released her. “We are glad to have a Shadow here.” No one was ever happy to have a Shadow in their midst; secrets might be exposed, people might die. However, considering the rumors that had brought her here, this man might be the first to say those words to a Shadow and mean it.

“Tell me about this Mistbeast,” she demanded.

The Lightless had had few details to give her; the last thing Feyre wanted was to walk into Blackwood Forest unprepared. If this man was so glad she was here, let him help her. The barmaid returned and put a small iron key down in front of her without a word. The other men had quieted but continued to watch the Shadow at the bar, albeit more carefully and surreptitiously.

“The Mistbeast is a creature that has roamed the Blackwood for generations now. At first, the lumberjacks and the hunters would catch glimpses of it deep in the woods. Their stories say the beast is as tall as a horse but moves with the swiftness of a Shadow. It used to live in the deepest parts of the forests. We left the Mistbeast alone and it would leave us alone. Now it has become as deadly as the plague to all those who face it. None has survived an encounter in a long time.”

She nodded, though old wives’ tales weren’t what she needed. “What changed?”

He shook his head. “A bunch of hunters thought they could take it. The thought of a predator in their woods didn’t sit well with them, I suppose. They were idiots and underestimated what they were up against. The Mistbeast tore them to bits! Since then, it’s attacked everyone who ventures too deep into the woods. Now, it’s even coming closer to Lin. Some say they hear the Mistbeast walk through our streets, others say it moves like a ghost.” The young man shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“They are not just claims, boy! It’s the truth,” an old man interjected.

Feyre nodded again. No animal would come into a town of any size if it didn’t have to. The only reason this Mistbeast would leave the cover of the trees would be a lack of food elsewhere. Considering the trade of furs had neither increased nor decreased, Feyre assumed there to be plenty of prey within the forest. Why would it leave the safety of the Blackwood?

“How regularly does a party set out to hunt it?” The town couldn’t afford to remain passive when its livelihood depended on those woods.

“The last party left only two nights ago.” A short silence fell. Feyre caught a wistful glance cast at the door. “None came back. They’re probably all dead.”

The barman rushed back in, white as a sheet as he slammed the door closed behind him, locking it for good measure. “It’s out there,” he whispered to the room. He cast a quick glance out the window. “Best if everyone stays here tonight.” With that, he started on the collecting of locks and chains to secure the door.

“It can sense the Shadow,” a man behind her exclaimed in fright.

Feyre rolled her eyes at the assumption. She had known, somewhere at the back of her mind, there was a reason she usually didn’t reveal her Shadow-self in public as she had done here. After months at the Order’s headquarters surrounded by other Shadows, and weeks alone on the road, it had slipped her mind. Now she remembered what that reason was.

Finishing her ale, she put her glass down and snatched up the key. She moved to one of the windows and took a peek into the street. Nothing but houses bathed in the final rays of sunlight. Feyre mused that if this Mistbeast had become master of the forest, why leave it? Most likely, the locals were too easily spooked.

“Do you know the woods?” she asked the blond.

His blue eyes returned her stare; she wondered how much it would take to frighten him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to try. How long had it been since anyone other than a fellow Shadow or a mage had not been afraid of her? “I do.”

“Good. Tomorrow, you will take me to the different attack sites.”

Without another look around, she took herself upstairs to find her room.

***

Lin did not look much better in the light of dawn. The houses had been built with wood and partially covered in plaster. Over time, the wood had started to rot, while a layer of grime built up over the plaster.

When Feyre stepped back into the square, feeling the worn cobbles underneath her boots. When she breathed in, the smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach forget all about her breakfast and ask for more freshly baked goods.

People had appeared from their houses, filling this central area with activity and noise. Women collected water from the well or gathered baskets, talking animatedly. Men gathered in groups, counting arrows, testing bowstrings or sharpening axes. Children ran through the throngs of adults. Branching off the square, the roads turned to dirt, their cobbles having long since disappeared beneath the mud.

“Shall we set off?”

The blond had left the inn a while ago. She hadn’t asked him where he had gone, she hadn’t told him to come back. Feyre knew he would take his appointment as her guide very seriously. No one wished to risk a Shadow’s anger. The Order’s dark reputation certainly had its benefits.

Standing before her, it was clear he must have gone home first. He wore a different set of clothes, far better suited to the forest, a bow and quiver strapped to his back, his hair brushed back, and an easy smile on his lips. Behind him stood a horse, saddled and waiting.

“Etienne,” he said, gesturing to himself, “and Arion,” he added with a gesture at his horse. “At your service.”

She thought of her horse in the inn’s stables. Of how much begging and pleading it had taken before Zelda, a Shadow stationed elsewhere in Voyenne, had agreed to let her borrow it. If this Mistbeast truly was as deadly as they claimed, Feyre was not about to take the horse with her. Zelda would never forgive her.

“I shall need a horse.”

“What about the one you came on?” he frowned.

“Not an option.”

“Are you su-”

“Not. An. Option.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose Arion could carry us both.”

They walked out of Lin on foot. It allowed Feyre to take in more of the town in the morning light. A number of different paths led from the town into Blackwood Forest; some were well maintained, with neat cobbles leading from the houses to the open field where the path continued to the edge of the trees and under the canopy. The fields were full of spring flowers; daisies and dandelions, red clover and others Feyre couldn’t identify. Their scents, though subtle, filled the air around them. Her escort explained they varied their hunting grounds regularly, which explained the numerous paths.

“And the field?”

“Mostly for our own pretend security. But the children collect the dandelions for jam. They snack on the red clover too.”

At the edge of the Blackwood, they mounted Arion. The tall pine trees rose high above them. Arion followed the path with only little guidance from Etienne, knowing the way as well as any other inhabitant of Lin. Feyre kept her eyes and ears open, though she did not expect to catch any sight of the Mistbeast this close to the edge while the sun was out. The wind blew through the trees, rustling in the brush. Occasionally a twig snapped somewhere in the distance. There was nothing to warrant any extra attention.

Before long, the branches overhead became so thick they blocked out all sunlight. If she looked back, she could see nothing but pine trees; they seemed to have moved to block all sight of the world outside of the forest. The temperatures dropped as the sun disappeared, though a Shadow rarely went anywhere without their cloak.

“Pass me the lantern,” Etienne said, halting Arion briefly.

Feyre did as asked.

The small light bloomed to life in its glass prison, allowing them to see a little further. Never could she have found her way through Blackwood Forest without a guide who knew the woods like the back of his hands. While there were few paths branching off the main thoroughfare, the resemblance between the trees and the clear lack of markers made it impossible to guess how long they had traveled. Were they heading south or east? Yet all around them, the forest was alive with sounds.

They crossed a sturdy wooden bridge over the Grande Elle River as Etienne led them deeper and deeper into the Blackwood. Neither spoke much beyond the necessary, which was little. She didn’t ask how much longer they would need, nor where exactly he was taking her.

The noises of the forest disappeared so gradually, Feyre didn’t notice at first when everything had gone silent. Arion had walked on though she could sense the animal’s nervousness. She reached around Etienne to put a hand on the reins, hushing him softly before he could speak. Then she slipped down onto the ground.

The dirt path beneath her boots didn’t kick up any dust as she walked. Here and there, tree roots had pushed their way to the surface.

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The lively forest seemed to have died; there were no more birds, no more rustles, no more wind. Only silence. Ahead, the path disappeared out of sight as it went downhill.

With one hand, Feyre pulled her dagger from her belt, gripping a throwing knife in her other.

Etienne followed, an arrow nocked and ready. Arion waited patiently where they left him, no interest in going any further. A sure sign of something, Feyre assessed. Her eyes continuously scanned the surrounding forest. Soon she caught something else, not a sound or sight but a smell. In stark contrast to the earthy smell of pine, dirt, and rotting vegetation was the coppery smell of blood. Her feet froze inches before the path dipped down. She found herself surveying a massacre. Etienne stood next to her in horrified silence.

“The latest hunting party, I assume?”

He nodded.

Before them, on the path, hanging from branches, and sticking out of the underbrush were a number of bodies. Impossible to tell how many. Each had been torn to pieces, so that most of what she saw were severed limbs. The man nearest to them, his face forever frozen in a terrified scream as he stared up at them, was missing his legs. Feyre surveyed the scene with odd detachment; it was hard to tell which legs had belonged to him.

“That’s Baptiste,” Etienne whispered. She nodded though the information was useless to her.

Slowly, she made her way downhill. The ground was dark with blood, most of which had dried by now, especially the long drag marks. One man had been left mostly intact, though he had been thrown against a tree where a branch had speared him. A hand lay abandoned in the middle of the path, a leg could just be seen sticking out of the vegetation. She saw a head of blond curls a little further, though got the distinct impression it was no longer attached to anything below the neck.

Whatever had attacked this group had been vicious, efficient and deadly. It hadn’t killed for food either. Feyre suspected if all body parts were gathered, they would amount to a complete hunting party, yet no other predator had come around to claim the spoils either, which concerned her more.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she swept her eyes over the dense assembly of trees.

“Etienne, go back to Arion.” She didn’t turn her eyes away from their surroundings. “Something is watching us.”

“What? We can’t just leave them here.”

“As a matter of fact, we can.”

With small, careful steps, Feyre maneuvered backward. Her eyes moved around, searching for the slightest sign of anything hidden in the trees. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Her ears couldn’t pick up anything. She turned to tell her companion once more to move.

It would have been fatal to anyone else; only her training, reflexes deeply ingrained in her muscles, saved her life as she automatically threw herself to the side. A second later and long fangs would have torn through her flesh.

Feyre spun to face her foe, holding her dagger at the ready. Her weapon was roughly the size of those teeth. Except she had only one dagger.

Before her stood a beast she had never seen with her own eyes before. This had to be the Mistbeast of the village’s tales. A wolf as tall as she was, with fur as black as night, eyes like fire, and powerfully built. Its lips were curled back to bare sharp and lethal teeth. Its hackles were raised and its ears lay flat as it snarled at her.

“Etienne, get to the horse. Now!”

She didn’t think he would need to be told again.

The wolf snapped its teeth and feinted a forward move. The Shadow lost her first throwing knife to that feint. Between one heartbeat and the next, the wolf leaped at her, not giving her the opportunity to escape as she had the first time. It knocked her over and she dropped her dagger; she needed her hands free to keep the strong jaws away from her throat.

Feyre struggled with all her might to keep them at bay. She worked to pull her legs up to her chest, then, with a burst of strength she prayed would be enough, she kicked out at the wolf. Too focused on ripping out her throat, the kick landed firmly on the beast’s sensitive belly, throwing it through the air.

Feyre didn’t waste a second. Grabbing her dagger as she rolled and rose to her feet, she sprinted up the path. Etienne sat in the saddle, yanking on the reins to keep Arion in place, as he waited for her. His eyes went wide as she appeared, the massive beast on her tail.

His quick arrow rushed past her ear, disappearing behind her. She grabbed his outstretched hand and allowed him to swing her up behind him. The stallion did not need to be told to flee.

A hurried look over her shoulder made her think for a second the wolf had disappeared. Instead, it had only sought refuge among the trees as it continued its chase. It was fast; it would catch up before long.

Feyre took her time to aim before throwing her second knife. Then a third. And a fourth. She neither heard nor saw the impact; the only confirmation she got to confirm a successful throw was a slight yelp. Ripping Etienne’s bow from his hand, she nocked an arrow and kept it aimed at the forest, waiting for a sight of the beast. Movement in the darkness.

Nothing.

Arion bolted out of the trees, too panicked to stop at the sight of sunlight. Etienne struggled to control him. They raced through the streets, villagers jumping out of their way, until a thicker crowd in the square forced them to a stop.

Feyre, her heart racing, dropped to the ground and went to the well. Pulling up a bucket, she drank her fill before holding it out to Etienne, who offered it to his horse.

A silence stretched between them.

The blond broke the silence first. “I can’t believe we survived an attack from the Mistbeast.”

Feyre turned on him, anger boiling in her veins. It had taken one look at the big wolf for her to know what predator she had come face to face with. It had been all she needed to piece together this complicated puzzle.

“You pissed off a Fenris wolf!” she yelled. “There shouldn’t have been a confrontation at all!”

A string of curses followed.

He took a step back. The few people in the square who had not been watching yet turned to them.

Feyre took a deep breath, knowing he did not deserve her anger. As a matter of fact, none in Lin deserved it. The first hunting party had set out long before any of these people had been born. Still, it was these people who had ventured into those woods and attempted to kill something unprovoked. It could simply be bad luck they encountered a creature with good memory and adept to holding grudges.

“What’s a Fenris wolf?”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and slowly out through her mouth. Feyre had made the conscious decision to specialize herself as Tenebrous, a Shadow trained in the deceitful gathering of information. She had chosen to wrap herself in shadows, minimizing her contact with violence. The occasional slit throat was no issue. A direct confrontation with a beast, may it be man or wolf, was quite different.

“A large species of wolves, native to the dense forests of Dinu. This one must have wandered west in search of new territory, maybe for prey.”

“That beast has been here for decades, surely it can’t be the same wolf.”

She wished she could answer him. Her expertise was not with wolves nor any other kind of animal. In fact, she feared she might be in over her head. Why had the Lightless thought to send her?

“Can you kill it?”

She took another deep breath. “I have to send a note,” she muttered to herself. Yes, she had to write to someone who knew more. To someone who could research these animals and their behaviors. To someone who could provide her with answers. Until then, she would not venture back into Blackwood Forest.

***

“You’re back,” Etienne exclaimed as her horse made its way across the square’s cobblestones.

Feyre had been in the town of Traises some hundred and fifty kilometers north-east of Lin. It was the nearest town and only slightly bigger. Large enough to have a Raven Master though. She had written to a mage, hoping they would be able to help her, only to have another mage write back to her. What little good it had done her.

She hadn’t expected the blond to be in the square when she returned. In fact, she had doubted she would see him again at all. Now, he met her with a smile, looking up at her with those peculiar blue eyes full of relief and hope, the noon sun turning his hair to a brighter shade of gold. She acknowledged him with a nod, aware of her tight schedule, and continued onward to the inn.

“I’m back.”

“Did you find out more about the Fenris wolf? Do you know why it’s here? Why it’s attacking us? Are you going to kill it?”

Feyre could never hope to sate his curiosity before the sun set. She flung herself out of the saddle and handed him the reins without asking. He took them without protesting.

The inn was busier than it had been the last time with dusk still far away. Tables were fuller and the conversations flowed as freely as the drinks. In the crowd, the barmaid made her way around the tables with pints balanced precariously on her tray. The barman himself stood behind the bar, busy filling even more glasses; he barely paused in his work to look up at the new arrival.

As on her first night, Feyre approached the bar, though she had no time to wait to be noticed. She pounded the bar with her fist. The barman cast a glance at the source of the disturbance and immediately paled at the sight of her. Any other time she could afford to forgo the rudeness; today, she could not.

“Miss Shadow. What can I do for you? Your room is still as you left it.”

“I will not be needing the room tonight, though my horse needs a place to stay.”

“Certainly. One moment and I will take care of it right away.” Despite a drinking room full of patrons, he hurried to finish his order and followed her out.

Feyre turned and stepped outside again. Etienne was where she had left him, muttering to the horse as though the animal might answer all his questions. He stopped immediately when his eyes met hers. The barman went for the horse and led it away gently, putting it between her and himself; no demanding clients to keep him from fearing her out here.

“The horse isn’t mine,” she stated as the young man stepped up next to her. “I have sent word to its owner that she can expect it back soon. If I have not returned by late morning tomorrow; I need you to take it back to Dormont. When you catch your first glimpse of the city, you can let it go. It will find its own way home from there. You can take whatever is in the saddlebags as payment.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. She walked away without waiting for a reply. Daylight was a precious commodity to those traveling in Blackwood Forest, despite how much of it the pines blocked out. And while the Mistbeast had proved to be active even during the day, she would much rather make it to her destination before night fell and left her completely blind. He caught up to her, matching her stride.

“You’re going to hunt it now? Where are your weapons? You can’t hope to take the Mistbeast out with your dagger.” Feyre glared at him, and he hurried to amend, “Though I don’t doubt you’re greatly skilled with it. But you need something larger, something more lethal. Not to mention that the sun will have set before you can get too far, especially if you are walking. Why are you walking?”

She stopped and turned to him. They stood halfway between the Blackwood and Lin. “As I said, the horse is not mine. Predators might come out during the day but are more active at night. A lantern’s flame is a hazard to the forest so I won’t take one. Now, return home and let me get to work.”

“But a dagger?” he repeated in utter disbelief.

Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger in question, pulling it free. It was a fine weapon; a lean blade, strong and lethal with its double edge. The rosewood handle had been carved to fit the shape of her hand. Turning the blade over, the Order of Shadows’ symbol had been pressed into the metal just under the guard.

“I am a Tenebrous. Do you know what that means?” He shook his head. She hadn’t expected him to know; few knew about the inner workings of the Order. “I am a Shadow specialized in the collection of information, in doing things quietly and in leaving as little bloodshed in my wake as possible. I am adept at moving in the shadows, adept at using a weapon, and capable of taking a life if the need were to arise. However, I believe that, in the case of the Mistbeast, it is not these skills that are required.” Then she put the dagger away; she carried it with her now only for its symbolic nature. “If I do not come back, make sure to tell the next Shadow I was wrong.”

She walked away. When she reached the treeline, she paused, feeling eyes on her back. Etienne stood where she had left him, watching her with an expression of barely disguised dread and worry. She realized she had expected him to follow.

It was good he hadn’t. With a final nod, she walked into Blackwood Forest.

Now on foot, she realized just how far they had gone before they had found the massacre. It would take longer than she had anticipated to venture deep enough into the forest. But she didn’t press her step. Instead, she thought about what the mage had been able to tell her.

Fenris wolves were sacred animals of the goddess Daciana, one of several deities of the hunt on the continent. She hunted side by side with the animals. They were intelligent and long-lived; solitary animals but capable of teamwork. They were adaptable and fast learners. Feyre knew for herself that was true; the Fenris wolf had witnessed the humans set traps for it and, in turn, it had set a trap for them. It explained why the massacre had happened on the road, and why lesser predators had left their superiors’ feast untouched.

The forest grew darker as time passed. Feyre didn’t mind. She was a Shadow; she lived in the darkness and used it to conceal herself from the world. However, the Mistbeast would do the same, using the cover of night to hunt its prey while she hunted it.

With the growing darkness, the sounds of life disappeared, leaving the Blackwood in an eerie silence. Her senses were on high alert as she peered into the blackness. She briefly considered leaving the path but dismissed the thought; if she had to face and fight the Fenris wolf, best it be not where the beast had the advantage.

For what felt like hours, she followed the main trail deeper and deeper into Blackwood Forest, not willing to risk losing herself on a smaller side-path. Perhaps the Mistbeast had gone to Lin and she had missed it. Perhaps it hid in a different part of the woods. But no, this was now its territory; any who ventured would not go unnoticed. Yet the night remained calm and peaceful.

Until it didn’t.

A prickling sensation alerted her to a presence hidden among the trees. She hadn’t yet reached the massacre site but was not surprised the Fenris wolf had found her already. Her muscles tensed, her ears straining to pick up any sounds. Where did it hide? Why watch her and not attack? She pulled her dagger free, ready to use it to defend herself. Despite being accustomed to tracking her prey at night, the darkness of the Blackwood was almost absolute. All moonlight was blocked by the thick canopy of branches. Instead, she relied on her hearing, and on her body, as she had never before.

There.

She spun on her heel, watching as the imposing form of the Fenris wolf stepped out of the brush and onto the path. It did so deliberately, calmly; full of restrained power. With its black fur, the Mistbeast blended into the shadows as well as Feyre, though its eyes shone in what little light there was. It stood tall and straight as it stared her down across the distance that separated them. She returned the Fenris wolf’s stare, her grip tightening on the dagger’s hilt, her knees bending slightly.

Unlike last time, the Mistbeast did not attack her right away. They faced each other, each sizing the other up.

The mage who had written about the Fenris wolves had quoted some of his theology books, hoping she might find it helpful. The words swirled through her mind now as she stared down the beast.

Hunts with the goddess are said to have made them uncommonly apt at reading human body language.

Her body language no doubt screamed aggressiveness, but perhaps it could read more into it. It had to if it hadn’t attacked her yet.

She breathed deeply through her nose, steeling herself. Either her plan succeeded or she was about to surrender herself to a hopefully quick death.

Breathing out slowly, she lowered herself, keeping her gaze fixed upon the Fenris wolf, willing it to read her intentions, the change in her body language. Kneeling on the rough ground, she breathed in shakily and tossed the dagger just out of reach. If the Fenris wolf attacked now, it would be on her before she could scramble for it. Without any other weapons on her, she likely wouldn’t survive.

The Mistbeast didn’t move.

Bit by bit, she stood up again. More quotes came to mind. One story told of a huntsman who crossed paths with a Fenris wolf. The wolf did not attack, neither did the man. He put down his bow and showed he was no threat. She prayed the mage had been right, that the story he had recounted was not just a story after all.

The Fenris wolf watched her still, not moving a muscle. Her heart was in her throat. Any second now and it could all be over.

The beast took a step in her direction—almost tentative. Feyre forced herself to hold still, forcing herself not to dive for the dagger or to run. She relaxed all her muscles. She waited.

It took another hesitant step, ears twitched, its nose scenting the air. It doubted her as much as she doubted it. Feyre refused to move as the wolf approached her. Even when it was only an arm’s length away, a lunge removed from her death, her feet remained firmly planted in their spot. Stoically, her gaze didn’t stray from the Fenris wolf’s shining eyes.

Then, before her frozen body, the wolf too lowered itself. Lower and lower until its muzzle nearly touched the ground. Its eyes stared up at her as it held the position. For the first time in her career as Shadow, Feyre had not prepared for the unexpected. In her mind, the wolf would have either attacked her or walked away. This... this was something else.

Making sure to avoid any brusque movements, she lowered herself onto the dirt path beneath her. She could feel every twig and pebble. She was almost glad to be off her shaky legs. The Order had prepared her for a lot; had trained her to be perfectly emotionless in a vast range of situations. This had never been one of them.

In the darkness, the Mistbeast followed her example, lying down on the ground completely.

On a whim, she reached out with her hand, thinking only a heartbeat too late that she risked losing it. The Fenris wolf sniffed at her fingers before nudging them. Carefully, she slid her fingers up the length of the great muzzle, knowing full well the teeth that hid beneath the fur and skin. Before she could pull back her fingers, the animal licked at them. She drew back her fingers more out of disgust than fear.

“Please don’t slobber all over me,” she muttered as she wiped the hand on her cloak.

They sat in an almost companionable silence for a long time, each cautious of the other but growing accustomed to their presence and company. Feyre thought she might doze off as twilight turned to full night. Everything quieted, but she dared not close her eyes. She must have though, for she woke to bird songs. The pine forest had turned from black to dark green. The most shocking discovery, however, was the Fenris wolf who had, during the night, moved to curl around her. Its tail rested across her stomach, the black fur soft beneath her hands and cheek.

With small movements, she distanced herself from this much feared animal. Its golden eyes flew open and tracked the Shadow’s every move. It watched as she stood and stretched. It watched as she reached for her dagger. It rose to its feet in seconds, pulling back its lips to reveal deadly teeth.

“Easy,” she muttered, keeping her voice calm. “I’m attached to this. I’m putting it away. See?” She slid it into its sheath and showed her empty hands. “No harm done.” It continued to watch her attentively.

Feyre found it hard to walk away from the Fenris wolf, though she knew she needed to return to Lin before late morning. A fragile bond had formed between them throughout the night, tentative but true. She could not simply leave it behind; she had no guarantee it would not remain in Blackwood Forest to hunt the townsfolk. Just because it hadn’t killed her...

The Mistbeast did not appear to have the same reservations. It stepped off the path and disappeared between the trees without a backward glance. After the Fenris wolf and the hunter had parted ways, the man never saw it in those lands again.

The ending of her adventure left her feeling dissatisfied; though the huntsman and the Fenris wolf from the story had also walked away from each other. If the story held true, it would leave and never return, and if not, she would return to finish the job.

And so, she started on her way back to Lin.

The hike took less time than it had the previous afternoon, or it felt like it did. The Blackwood had lightened only a little with the rising sun somewhere far beyond the densely packed trees. It would have been easy to believe no time at all had passed. Gradually, the birds woke and picked up their song. Perhaps it was the repetitiveness of her surroundings that shortened the road, or perhaps it was her wandering thoughts as her senses remained on high alert.

A snapping noise cut off her steady pace. All around, the forest had come to life with the rustle of needles and the bristle in the undergrowth. Birds chirped. Nothing like the eerie silence that had accompanied the Mistbeast’s presence. Her body was still wound tight from her encounter. The Order of Shadows had taught her good reflexes. But the Fenris wolf was gone.

All Feyre had left to do was a stern talk with Lin’s mayor on how to proceed, explain what she had learned and what they would need to do, add a few threats to make sure the village’s inhabitants complied, and add a few more to remind them Shadows did not clean up the same mess twice.

Now there was a conversation to look forward to.

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