While Lethel Redinghood often spends her time these days in the lizardkin camp, she did still technically lived in Grimmel, with her own house. As such, while Merylin took Sherl and John to the campsite to find her, Morgan headed for the girl's house, just in case she had went back for a time instead. Morgan is hoping against all hope that she was not at her home.

The Redinghood hut was on the northeastern skirts of the town, close to the forest. It was on the last bit of the farmlands, and walking up the dirt path, Morgan was surrounded by a small field of flowers that formed rainbow colours. The pollen had the drying cold air scented mildly sweet, with bees and wisps pollinating in in the light.

Outside the hut and under an overhang was an empty rocking chair that barely moved in the Autumn wind. A ball of red warn was placed in the seat, awaiting to be made into something new. Next to the building was a large clay basin sitting atop a round brick furnace, fire burning through a small gap that licked for more fuel from a pile of timber sitting just out of reach. A rope of a long clothesline fluttered behind.

As Morgan took her first step up a the wooden planks placed on the slight slope leading up to the house, Lethel stepped out from the archway, holding a fold of white cloth over her arm. In full light, Morgan only then realized the few times they had spoken were in shadows or a level of darkness. The elf, Lethel, was in her young adulthood. Her lithe body hid under a white dress and slightly oversized red hood scarf that reached over her chest. In the dark, her eyes and hair had looked hazel and strawberry blonde, but in proper lighting, they revealed themselves to be a set of gold irises and rose red ponytail, a rare set of traits for an elf.

‟Knight Morgan,” Lethel greeted, surprised. Her voice then turned to suspicion. ‟Are you here to visit? Or are you here to proof my non-existent guilt?”

‟Are you expecting me to?” The knight replied, stoically. ‟I thought you were expecting to leave with Wolf Bane? Why are you back here?”

The young woman crossed her porch to the simmering basin and slowly set the cloth in her hand onto the side. As Morgan stepped closer, she noticed a bowl of crushed lilacs next to a stool, and could see simmering lilac liquid in the dye basin.

Lethel answered, ‟If the lizardkins can reintegrate, we won't have to leave. And I figured I should keep up at least some semblance of maintenance for my old life. And don't worry, I can't actually run away.” She gestured to the edge of town in the distance.

Morgan looked back, and standing against a signpost with folded arms was Curoi. While Morgan understood it could be interpreted as part of his duty to prevent her from escaping, the manner in which he conducted the overseer left much to be desired. From Morgan's perspective, it looked more of a threatening than an overlooking.

‟Surprised you're so calm by all this,” Morgan said.

Lethel picked up a wooden pole and slowly pushed the white cloth into the lilac dye and began to stir. ‟Don't misunderstand this, Knight Morgan. I am terrified. I'm not a soldier, or a detective, or some legendary knight. I'm just a dyer, trying to hold on to the bits of my world left.” Morgan could see her shoulders tensed as she stirred harder against the current of the basin. ‟After my grandmother passed, Wolf Bane is all I have. These murders, these politics, even though I understand them, I can't move them. I can only hold onto what I have.”

‟That's... a grounded outlook.” Morgan was still looking at Curoi in the distant, wary of the man who had raised a sword against her.

After a moment of mixing the dye and cloth, Lethel took the bowl of crushed lilac and poured the powder into the mixture.

She then changed topic. ‟You're not here to asked about my life, are you?”

‟No,” Morgan turned back to her, back on track. ‟We have another victim, and our prime suspect right now is you.”

She stopped stirring the dye. ‟What? You can't incriminate Wolf Bane, so now you come for me?”

‟The murder method lines up. We're looking for someone the victims would recognise, and also knew about the existence of the lizardkins beforehand. Did you meet Wolf Bane before or after the photographer arrived in town?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Lethel sighed. ‟It was before.”

She should know that did not help her timeline, but she said so anyway. Truth? Simple misunderstanding? A lie for pity? A lie for thrust?

With practised hands, Lethel used the pole to remove the dyed cloth and started moving them onto the clothesline to drip dry, doing all the motion without touching the now purple fabric. The ground beneath the had been stained a multitude of colours, the centre of which had been mixed black.

The dyer continued, ‟I'm sure I'm not the only person who knew the lizardkins were in the forest. There are others who could have known as well, though I can't be sure.”

‟And you expect me to just take you at your word? That you just think others could also know?”

‟Believe me or not, that is up to you. But this is a small village. We're still wondering if it should be called a town. Lumber work is our main source of trade, and we venture into the forest all the time. The lumberers, the mayor, the foragers, they all go into the forest from time to time. It would be arrogant to think that no one else saw the lizardkins. The rumours of monsters were there long before I moved here. Even I stumbled upon them by accident while looking for flower seeds.”

Morgan was looking at the still moving water in the dye basin when her mind clicked. ‟Wait, what?” Morgan's attention shot up.

‟I said I stumbled onto Wolf Bane by accident. Was attacked by a big bad wolf.” Lethel repeated, smiling in reminiscent at the memory.

‟No, not that. The mayor, Soira, he goes into the forest?”

‟Often,” Lethel admitted. ‟I assume it's for some official business. We are a lumbering town, after all.”

That made sense. Right? Morgan sifted through her logical processes. No, the mayor had no motive. In fact, wasn't she there because Lethel was the main suspect? But why would the mayor be in the forest? Official business, of course. Of course?

‟Look, Redinghood, you'll need more than words to persuade me. Are there any ways to prove your innocence?”

Lethel sighed and stopped her work as she thought. Then, her face lit up. ‟Actually, there is one thing that might help. I was on good terms with the photographer. She even took a picture of me which I bought.”

‟The missing photo crystal...” Morgan muttered.

‟I'm sorry?”

‟Nothing,” the knight hastily corrected. ‟Can I have a look at the photograph, then?”

‟Sure,” Lethel put down her tools and dusted her hands on her skirt. ‟Just let me get it for you.”

Morgan watched the dyer circled back into her hut. Once she vanished into the shade of the building, Morgan turned her attention away to the flower field.

It was a beautiful sight of a settlement beset by tragedy, and a strange outlier amidst the trunk of fallen trees in the distant lumber yard. She spotted lilacs amongst roses and jullebies. Lethel must have planted them to use in her dyes. Morgan wondered if Lethel had dyed her scarf herself.

A cool Autumn breeze blew by and her eyes closed in comfort. Had there not been a case of serial killings and political confusion happening, the town was actually a peaceful place to be still in, far enough from the world to not be doused in the madness of life.

A far-off voice shouted, ‟Morgan!”

Her eyes opened, temporarily blinded by the light. She looked around for the source of the voice as her vision quickly adjusted.

‟Morgan!” It was Curoi, still a way away from her, but now running desperately.

Did something happen in town? No. He was running towards her, which meant-

She spun around just in time to raise her mutant arm against five sharp claws pouncing on her. Her hand caught onto the claw hand, though her opponent managed to push up to her face, obstructing her view of her assailant. But from the corner of her eyes, she could see something. A tail? Made of metal? The claws too were metallic.

From the right, a second set of claws sliced through the air, aimed at her ribs. Morgan let out a desperate burst of dark magic, blasting her away from her opponent, but covering the area in fading black shadows and dancing flower petals that were picked up by the blast.

By the time the colours settled, her assailant was making their escape, a path of flattened flowers lead out north into the woods.

Morgan thought of giving chase, then remembered, ‟Lethel!”

She rushed into the hut and saw the young woman sprawled on the floor, blood spilling from the five holes punctured into her side.