The morning came too soon, and Matthaeus blinked blearily awake to the sight of light streaming in through the tavern room window. His new longbow was wrapped in his arms under many layers of heavy blanket, and the bed sunk around him in an embrace that didn’t seem to want to let go.

Reyland lay asleep in the bed on the other side of the room, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed and the other over his face. Matthaeus rubbed his eyes a few times before slipping off the bed, stretching himself out with a small groan.

The sun had barely risen, and today was to be a day of rest for the weary travellers. They would begin the trek up the mountain tomorrow morning, but for now, Matthaeus had the entire day to himself.

And he was going to make the most of every second of it.

Snatching his quiver of arrows and throwing on his boots, Matthaeus left the room as quietly as he could. The tavern was peacefully quiet this morning, after the heavy drinking and festivities from the night before. It seemed the whole hamlet had come out to drink with the travelling Order members, and the dancing and music had continued late into the night. Now though, aside from a few snoring men who lay draped over tables or strewn across the floor, the tavern was silent.

The air outside was brisk against Matthaeus’ skin, as late fall started to bleed into winter. He could see little puffs in front of him as he exhaled, and the sight of it brought him a strange comfort. In spite of the complaints about the cold he had been hearing from people for weeks now, it still seemed a bit… warm to him. The faint, cool breeze was a welcome sensation across his skin.

He walked quietly to the edge of town, relishing the silence and the solitude that had been so rare since they left Jurhal Keep. It felt nice to, for once, not have eyes piercing him every moment he was in the open.

Matthaeus quickly found a field on the edge of the hamlet, near enough to the treeline that he could see a ways into the barren woods but close enough still that he could hear the bustle of town once it started for the day. There, his eyes locked onto a hay bale, tightly packed and wound and taller than he was by a half. It would suit his purpose perfectly.

He strung his new bow, shifting his grip around until it was comfortable, and trying to ignore the feeling that it wasn’t perfect. He drew back an arrow, aimed, and shot.

He missed the centre of the hay bale by nearly a foot, and frowned. Sure, he was shooting from nigh on fifty paces, but he felt intuitively that he should have done better. He shot until he was out of arrows, all ten sticking out of various parts of the hay bale, then walked over to collect them.

The next few hours continued in just the same way. He lost himself to time, drawing back his slightly-too-tall bow and practising until his shoulder and arm at last started to burn and the hay bale was noticeably deteriorating.

A flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye, right as he was about to fire his second to last arrow of this round. He froze stiff, turning only his head towards the woods as his body held a shooting pose with the bow.

There, at the edge of the forest, a small, white hare sat still. Its nose twitched, ears perked up as it looked around the clearing with wide, dark eyes. Everything around the hare blurred into the background, as Matthaeus felt the entire world shrink down to a single animal.

It wasn’t far from him. His nose twitched, but he could catch no scent of it. The wind was the wrong way.

Hunt.

He turned the bow towards the small creature, which watched him silently, nose still twitching. The hare was perfectly still in the dead, wilted grass, motionless as it watched him.

Hunt. Chase.

Matthaeus drew back the bow slowly, careful not to startle the creature. It was the perfect time of year… the hare’s coat had turned white for the winter, but snow had not yet covered the ground. Its own fur had now turned against it, making it pop out from the landscape as clear as day.

Hunt. Kill.

He loosed the arrow.

The hare took off at a sprint, the arrow clearing the air above its head so closely that it shaved hairs off the creature’s ears. Matthaeus didn’t even hesitate, his legs springing to motion as he chased after it, already drawing his last arrow.

He entered the treeline, tracking the hare’s direction as it disappeared behind the gentle slope of the ground and the trunks of the sparse trees. He slowed, arrow nocked and at the ready, as his heart beat a mile a minute.

The wind turned in his favour. The rustling of the bare tree branches and the soft crunch of his feet in the leaves faded away, as he followed the scent of his prey.

A few hundred paces later, the wind turned again, and he lost the scent. His lip curled in frustration, and his grip tightened over the handle of his bow. He searched the ground until he found what he was looking for, disturbances in the leaves and earth, the tracks of the hare.

He crouched low as he stalked through the woods, moving nearly in silence despite the leaves underfoot. His eyes scarcely blinked, scanning the woods for even a glimpse of white fur.

Hunt. Seek.

He obeyed the call, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to sniff the air. The wind shifted again, and this time, he smelled something new, something stronger.

Horse? And… smoke?

Trying to peer through the underbrush, he walked quietly, arrow nocked and at the ready. The brambles and thorns were thick in this part of the woods, and the dead leaves still clung to the branches, but he could faintly make out a clearing on the far side.

As he crept closer, a gust of wind carried the distinctive scent of a campfire, and smoked meats. He could see no smoke trail above, though, so any fire must have already been put out long ago.

Hide. Quiet.

The thoughts rang clear in his head, an instinct that wouldn’t be denied. It was like an itch he could only scratch by moving just as they demanded, hunching low as the hair on the back of his neck and arms raised. Something was on the other side of this brush, something that tingle in the back of his mind was wary of.

But as much as he was wary of it, he wanted to know what it was.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He found a small tunnel near the bottom of the giant patch of thorns and brambles, a game trail. It was large enough for perhaps a small wolf or coyote, at the most, and even as short and thin as he was it would be a tight crawl. Still, he pushed his way through.

As he crawled, his ears perked up as the sound of a voice slowly started to reach him. It was a young woman, speaking quietly and with long pauses, as if in conversation. Yet, no voice responded when she went quiet.

“Yes, I’ll be reaching the town soon. They must have arrived sometime yesterday.”

Matthaeus crept closer, finally able to make out the words the woman was saying. A thick, downed tree lay across the tunnel near the far end, and Matthaeus pressed himself close against it, hiding low in the shadows. He peeked underneath, moving slowly, careful not to disturb the branches around him.

In the clearing beyond, a single horse stood, grazing on the last few patches of nearly dead grass. A small pile of black charcoal was all that remained of a campfire, a few faint wisps of smoke still rising from the coals. But most striking of all was the young, armoured woman who stood in the middle of the clearing, her back to Matthaeus.

“...No, I don’t believe so. Too many eyes in town.”

Matthaeus’ own eyes narrowed, as the woman seemingly spoke to no one. Her long, dark hair hung loose, blowing gently in the breeze along with the grey folds of her cloak. The armour she wore, along with her boots and even the haft of her spear were all greyscale, as if every bit of colour and life had been sucked out. The only exception was the dull, coppery-red tip of her spear. Matthaeus felt his eyes draw to it, and the way the morning light glinted so dangerously off its edge. There was something… wrong about it.

“No!” The woman spat, her voice hissing like a serpent. The sudden vitriol in her outburst made Matthaeus lean back in surprise. “Follow your own trail, I don’t need your damn help. I’ll deal with him on my-”

She abruptly went quiet, and even from a distance Matthaeus could see the way her knuckles went white around her spear.

The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“...Yes, master. My apologies.”

Matthaeus felt his heart rate spike as the temperature in the area noticeably dropped. Had the wind changed…? No, it was still the same… so why?

Suddenly, that itch of wariness he had been feeling turned to fear. His legs tensed and his whole body went taught, primed for sudden movement as his heart started to pound.

“What? No, it’s…”

Matthaeus crept backwards, careful not to disturb so much as a leaf. His amber eyes stayed locked on the woman, unblinking.

“...I understand.”

She stood up straight, no longer looking down towards her feet as the conversation seemed to come to an end. Matthaeus froze again, as the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.

“Are you going to hide there forever, child?”

She hadn’t turned around, but Matthaeus felt the uncomfortable sensation of eyes on him. It sent chills across his skin.

The woman turned, and her disturbingly pale blue eyes locked onto Matthaeus’ instantly. He stayed frozen, feeling no different from the rabbit he had once been chasing. There was an ugly wound across her cheek, dark red and only in the early stages of healing. It looked painful, and turned her already predatory expression into something horrifying.

“My patience is limited. Come out, or I’ll burn the brush with you inside.”

Her hand flicked, his stomach rolled, and a dark red flame lit itself in the air above her hand. Matthaeus’ eyes went wide.

Magic.

He spared barely a glance at the dry, thin branches of the brush around him, littered with dead leaves now fallen at the end of autumn. It would go up in an instant, and the very thought of being trapped inside as it burned…

Slowly, careful not to make even a single sudden movement, he crawled towards her and out of the brush. She watched in silence, that unnaturally dark red flame still flickering just about her open hand.

“There… that wasn’t so difficult now, was it?”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the flame.

With a casual wave of her hand, the fire disappeared as quickly as it had come. She took a step towards him, spear held loosely to the side. He couldn’t escape the feeling that she was looking at him like prey.

Danger. Flee.

He clamped down on the instinct as it arose, though with every step she took closer he itched to run.

“A Norlander?” She mused, as she stopped just a few feet away. She was just at the edge of the range of her spear, Matthaeus noted. “You’re a long way from home, child.”

He held her gaze. From this close, her eyes were so pale they almost fell into the uncanny range of white, and seemed nearly… inhuman.

She dropped into a crouch, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned in uncomfortably close. A bead of sweat rolled down Matthaeus’ back. He could see it, the intense scrutiny and suspicion in her eyes.

He felt a shimmer in the air just a moment before a soft, bell-like ping sounded. A wave of something passed over his skin, though it wasn’t wind, and he didn’t feel it physically. Yet, he felt it all the same.

A brief frown crossed her face, before she sighed and lowered her head.

“Guess not, then…” She muttered dejectedly. Then her eyes were upon him again, and he took a half step back.

“What’s your name, Norlander?”

“...Matthaeus.”

“And what’s a Norlander like you doing this far south… and alone in the woods, at that?”

Run. Flee.

“...Hunting,” he replied softly.

She took in his bow and arrow, an unimpressed look on her face.

“So I see. And of course, a necessary part of every hunt is to eavesdrop, hm?”

She lifted her spear and lay it across her knees, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she leaned in closer. Though there was still a few feet between them, Matthaeus recoiled instinctively.

He shook his head slowly.

“Oh? So you weren’t creeping up behind me, hiding in the brush like an animal? My, I must have been terribly mistaken, then.”

There was a chilling dissonance between the tone and words she said, which seemed polite and casual, and the dangerous glint in her eye as she stared at him. He wanted to shrink away from that gaze, but there was nowhere to go.

Suddenly, a smile crossed her lips.

“I’m searching for someone, Matthaeus. Can you keep a secret? I promise not to tell on you for your eavesdropping if you’ll keep my secret, too.”

Predator. Danger. Run.

He nodded, afraid of how she would react if he declined.

“See, I’m supposed to be looking for a druid… but I don’t care.” She brought the tip of her spear closer, running a finger lovingly along its edge as she gazed fondly at the weapon. “My master makes so many demands… but I have my own desires, too.”

She turned her eyes back to him, and for the first time, Matthaeus realised why her gaze sent chills down his spine.

Madness. There was something broken behind her eyes.

“I’m not looking for a druid, Matthaeus. No, I’m looking for something much more fun. Someone dangerous, someone immoral, someone… powerful.”

Her lips widened into a smile, as her pale, unnatural eyes narrowed down to slits.

“I’m looking for a murderer named Griffith… and you’re going to help me find him.”