---WILBUR---

Ryne had asked him once, what it felt like to drink blood. They were still on their journey towards Rothfield, out in the open planes. Ryne was sitting on Wilbur’s makeshift coffin, hands clasped together on his knees. Wilbur sat down next to him and told him it felt like being nourished with the sweetest, most satisfying meal you could imagine.

But now that he was famished, blood felt like the sweetest nectar drank with golden goblets by gods residing in some mythical mountain. As the red liquid turned gold in his throat, Wilbur’s eyes rolled back. It was the fat and flavor dripping off roasted meat. He felt like he was hovering in the air and his heart, dormant for so long, beat with wild abandon, the blood of another coursing through its chambers. Wilbur was alive again. He felt his skin stitch itself back together, closing all evidence of claw marks. It brought him back the grey days when he could barely function. Strength returned to his limbs. Clarity returned to his mind. Words and thoughts and feelings condensed and burst inside him. Once he was done, the body that was once a man was now a husk the color of candle wax. It was a horrible sight.

It took Wilbur a few breaths to get back full control of his mind and body. He panted heavily, his voice echoing in the mountain entrance.

Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he sat with the husk, relishing his sated state. He can see much clearer now as if his eyes held torch lights in themselves. He checked the skin peeking through his torn cloak. Pale as moonlight, unblemished, unharmed. With his renewed strength, Wilbur dug into the ground with his bare hands until there was a hole big enough to bury the man in.

He picked up a pickaxe that the men left and walked through the tunnel. Deeper into the mines he went, following the trail of direwolf blood. He resurfaced in another spacious chamber filled with ores on the ground. Some were growing on the ceiling, though Wilbur could not reach those just yet. What pulled Wilbur’s gaze was the direwolf panting on a flowerbed of unrefined ice quartz. He walked towards the creature, feeling the weight of the pickaxe. The wolf saw and growled.

Wilbur spoke to it. “How did your species evolve this way? Were you hiding all this time in this mountain?” In response, the direwolf bared his fangs. “I have those too,” Wilbur said as he showed the creature his own sharp teeth. The direwolf sniffed him and whined.

The rusted sword was stuck on its furry chest, thick black blood pouring out of the gaping wound. It smelled like animal blood mixed with something else that Wilbur could not identify. When he raised the pickaxe, the direwolf barked, already anticipating the pain. Its fur bristled.

“Be still. At least I’ll make it quick, unlike when you toyed with me and those poor men.” Tatum appeared in his mind. Wilbur gripped the pickaxe tighter, readying the killing force. “There are villagers near here that must be protected from you. I hope you understand.”

With all the renewed strength he could muster, Wilbur swung. The sharp edge of the pickaxe landed clean between the eyes of the direwolf. It sunk to the ground, legs skewering. Its eyes were still fixed on Wilbur, tongue lolling. When it breathed no more, Wilbur pulled the man’s rusted sword from its chest and wiped the blood on the black fur. Wilbur gasped and retreated when he saw that the body of the greater direwolf turned to black powder, to soot, to ash. He stared for a moment longer until the faint shimmer of the ice quartz winked at him. With the enemy dispatched, Wilbur looked at his prize.

The ice quartz were all clumped together, ready for harvesting. Wilbur was confident that this would be enough to wake the shivering maiden and still have something left for other projects. He set to work, chipping away a large chunk of ice quartz and breaking it down into smaller pieces. The sounds of his grunts and the pickaxe echoed in the lonely cavern. Once he was satisfied, he stowed the chunks away into his pockets and satchels, feeling the weight dragging him down. The ores clacked together with each step as he made his way back to the main entrance. Wilbur placed the man’s rusted sword on the mound as a mark for his grave.

As Wilbur made his way back into the village, he saw the bodies of the two lesser wolves being coiled around by the sharp briars of the forest. He passed them just in time to hear a sickening crunch as the roots enveloped them and brought them back into their depths. He shivered, thinking that it would have been him and Woodrow that was being digested into the forest floor if not for Ryne’s intervention. Or maybe they would turn into ash like their leader. The dark forest must have a limited range, then, if it could not dispose of monsters this quickly. Maybe monsters did not roam near the villages after all, but were inside the mountains… that is not a comforting thought. Maybe other monsters were lurking in its depths, hiding or sleeping in hidden chambers of Mount Lhottem.

The wild footprints of running men continued to the village, and when Wilbur got there, he saw them talking to Clifton and the footman outside, near the communal fire, gesturing frantically. At least some of the men survived. For tonight, anyway.

He dove into the shadows and weaved his way between huts that coughed and sniffed. Maybe with these ores, he can make more medicines for these people. Before he disappeared from the center of the village, Wilbur heard one of the men exclaim, “And there was a pale warrior, too, dressed in all black. I saw his eyes glow and move from the shadows. He tried to help our friend.”

Wilbur tapped his sharp nails on Tatum’s open window. The boy poked his head outside, eyes bleary and wide.

“Did I wake you?”

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Tatum shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep properly. After you left, I woke up again.”

He must be too sick and too hungry to sleep, Wilbur thought. He brought out the jerkin he stole from Clifton’s barrels. “I brought something for you. Finish this, all right?”

Tatum’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

“From a thief. Don’t you worry about it.” Wilbur handed Tatum the jerkin and he watched the boy close his eyes when he tasted the dried meat. He smiled. When Tatum asked for his name, Wilbur gave it. “Thank you, Wilbur. Are you a friend of Father Clifton? You dress almost the same. Except yours are torn.”

“No, I live somewhere far away in a much nicer church and with much nicer brothers.”

“I wish I could live there.”

Well, could he? What if… what if that was possible? It wasn’t long ago when huts were outside the monastery, and this was just one small boy. He would be better there than here, especially if more direwolves were prowling about. Ryne said Gaelmar wanted them to have the choice to make the monastery their own, anyway.

Wilbur did not give Tatum an answer, only smiled and promised that he would come back with more things to help him. When the boy finished his meal, he yawned and smiled at Wilbur. He waved weakly and Wilbur saw real sleep weigh down his eyes.

“Hang in there, little Tatum,” Wilbur whispered as he saw the boy blow out his small candle and lay down his head.

As soon as he did, Wilbur felt the ground tremble beneath him. The vines of the dark forest emerged from the edge and wrapped themselves around Wilbur’s waist and arms. He said, “Take me back to him tomorrow night, or when I have developed the cure for this sickness.”

Wilbur let the vines carry him down through the underground path, the vines more careful with now, and spit him out onto the monastery where he had dropped his journal and left Ryne.

Both were still in the field. Ryne sat cross-legged, his journals lying on his knees, looking as if he was waiting for them all this time to return. Then they turned towards sounds of slithering vines and churning soil, and not long after Wilbur returned, Woodrow crawled out of the earth, swiping at the vines that slinked back.

He looked around, eyes wide at Ryne. “You have to come help me. There’s a village near here that needs your help.” It was then he noticed Wilbur. “A giant beast is attacking the people there. The dark forest protects them from being devoured but they also have several bandit camps to deal with. I think. I'm not sure if there are more rogue camps somewhere. The dark forest only attacks beasts not beastly humans, like it did with us.” Woodrow motioned between him and Wilbur.

Ryne nodded. He got up, still holding the book, and said, “Lead me to them.”

Wilbur was about to protest the idea of meeting with random villagers but stopped. He had to remind himself constantly now. Ryne can handle himself, he must believe that now. They were careful. Things will be different, even if this monastery operated on similar patterns from before. Ryne, it seems, was the Abbott now, blessed and guided by the kindest Saint himself.

Besides, he revealed himself to an orphaned villager now. Somebody had seen him. So has Woodrow, according to his story.

“The village is called Kent, named after its elder,” Woodrow was saying, already walking forward.

But when they turned around, the vines rose again and prevented them from going further, forming a wall. They burrowed back into the soil when the brothers took a step back. They looked at each other and knew that they would not accomplish their mission tonight.

“Shame, there was someone I wanted you to meet. The elder’s daughter, Agate, named like a precious stone. She’s been protecting this village full of fighters. Ryne, I... did something wrong.”

Wilbur observed that Woodrow looked shaken. He sucked in a breath and was about to tell his story when Ryne spoke.

“You both fed tonight.” Ryne was walking towards them, looking closely at their faces.

Woodrow and Wilbur traded uncertain looks. Woodrow said, “The bandit leader... and an innocent man. I was... I did not control the hunger. One minute we were talking and suddenly I was draining him. The man, I mean. Harlan. His name is Harlan. Oh, Ryne...” Woodrow turned away. "That is why I must return. To make sure he is all right and that the village is still safe."

Wilbur said after a long silence, “A miner in the village of Kent was my prey,” he sighed. “Here’s my adventure tonight…”

He told them, from the plague and the corrupt priest to the lesser and greater direwolves minus the gruesome details. He showed them the ores that could finally wake the shivering maiden flower and told them his theory of the sleeping monsters in the mountains.

“Unlucky lot to have their village far from the dark forest. Agate’s villagers are a bit more spiritual. There are no priests there, but they look towards Agate and her late father for guidance.” Woodrow looked again at Ryne. “What do you want to do first?”

Ryne was already thinking of a plan. “Our priority is the two villages of Grant and Kent. Understand why direwolves spawn on Mount Lhottem, if that is truly the case. We must know if they were there slumbering and have now awakened either by the strengthening Chaos or the wreckage that Wilbur observed. While we're at it, maybe we could harvest more ores for medicine, Wilbur.”

Wilbur nodded. Ryne looked to the dark forest. He opened his mouth, but then Ryne winced and closed his eyes. He grabbed his head and fell on one knee. His crown of pale blond hair glowed faintly. So did his eyelids. Wilbur and Woodrow helped him up when it faded away.

“Just now, Gaelmar showed me some visions of your mission," Ryne croaked out. "I saw the sickly miasma like a dark cloud on the village of Grant, while I saw pitchforks and swords and a shield on the village of Kent while you were there, Woodrow. The dark forest knows where to put your skills to use." Ryne collected himself and stood straight. "Stranger things will happen. We must be prepared for it. And if the villagers aren't safe there... then maybe we could open our doors here." Ryne turned to look at Wilbur and Woodrow. "I know that it is too early and that the monastery isn't equipped to care for villagers. And that we may be risking ourselves. But I feel that this is the right thing to do. Besides, we're not opening ourselves out to the whole realm. Just for villagers who need help."

Wilbur smiled inwardly, already thinking of Tatum.

"We came here to help people. But I'm just afraid that we..." Woodrow gestured to him and Wilbur, "may do more harm than good when we invite them here." Woodrow breathed and considered. "But I suppose you being here means these little incidents don't happen under your supervision." He looked at Ryne seriously. "Your responsibilities will be heavier. Are you prepared?"

Ryne nodded and he looked at them both. "Yes. As long as I have you and we work as one."

Woodrow shrugged, smiling uncertainly. "Splendid."