It was raining heavily when Sylvia woke. It was still dark. Afi was sitting at the fire, feeding it new kindling. He looked tired. It was not the kind of tired that came from loosing a few hours of sleep, though. He looked like a man who had seen too many things, had travelled much too far, and had lost far too much along the way. Sylvia sat up in her bedroll.

Afi turned his head. He perked up in an instant, alert and ready for anything. “Having trouble sleeping?”

“How long has it been?”, Sylvia wondered.

Afi peered into the distance, where the canopy was not quite as dense. “It should be dawn soon.”

Stretching, Sylvia determined, “Then let us leave soon. There is no point in wasting any more time.”

Packing up, they killed the fire and moved the rock back, suffocating the last embers. Sylvia reached up and picked a few handfuls of silver leaves. Bowing her head to the tree, she thanked it, before tucking the leaves away. Pulling the hood of Rebecca's jacket over her head, she took the lead once more. The rain drummed onto the canopy above. The further they walked, the more drops made it through, falling onto their heads. By the time they left the woods, it was daytime, but the sky was covered in a dreary grey.

Sylvia swallowed hard. The place looked much the same as when she sneaked away that early morning. The bitterleaf had grown in size, reaching up to her knees, but other than that, it was all the same. The old house stood on the other side of the field, along with the barn and the pigsty. Not a single stone was out of place. It was only the soundscape that gave her pause. The rain was splattering down and ruffling the crops, but there was no burr and no bellow. It was much too quiet.

“Is this it? Your home?”, Afi asked carefully.

Sylvia nodded. “It used to be.”

“What are you looking for?”, Afi wondered. “Besides—”, he began to say, before closing his mouth again.

“I am not sure”, Sylvia admitted. “Maybe the doll, or the good knife”, she murmured.

Inhaling slowly, she savoured the familiar fragrance of wet dirt and leaf, before treading onto the arable. Her heart beat faster and faster as they neared the buildings. She kept her eyes and ears peeled, but while she was searching, she was also scared. She was not worried about being detected. She feared what she might find. What she expected to find, really.

Inspecting the pigsty first, Sylvia found only old hay, mud, and a heap of mouldy skin. The barn was equally empty. Climbing onto the loft, she found her backpack, and placed the book inside. The god and the blackstone, she kept close. Searching through the bag, she found her inkwell, and the case with her feather, as well as two coal pens, and the little notebook she used to summarise her readings. Ryther insisted that it was important to extract and keep information from books, but Sylvia had never actually gone back to her notes for anything. She found her memory to be very reliable. Returning to Afi and the horses, she stowed the bag away, and then turned to the main house with a deep sigh.

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“Let us leave the horses here in the shelter”, Afi suggested.

Sylvia merely nodded. Pulling her hood up again, he stepped out into the rain. Crossing the yard, she could feel her pulse all throughout her body. The front door swung open with ease. The familiar creak was not the least bit soothing. Inside, it was as dim as ever. The windows were small and far between. One would think it bad design, but when winter came around, it was a blessing. Her grandfather knew what he was doing when he built the house. Now, this cosy little space was anything but homey. It was deathly quiet.

The kitchen had been turned upside down. The table had been pushed to the wall and anything that was not nailed to the wall was gone. Sylvia walked around the room, closing the cabinets and picking up the chairs. Finding fragments of the clay pots and the beautiful stone plates, she muttered to herself. She checked on the storage next. It was completely barren. There was not a single jar of jam, not a piece of cheese, and not a single candle. Only the empty shelves remained. A few spiders had spread their webs, daring to build outside their usual corners. Finally, Sylvia turned to the stairs. With a heavy heart, she climbed to the second floor. As soon as she could peer along the hallway, she found what she had feared.

Her father lay dead in the door to the bedroom. First when Sylvia stood with both feet in the hallway itself, did the stench overwhelm her. Her father did not look nearly as bad as Ryther had. Lying here on the second floor, his body had been more sheltered. Coming closer, Sylvia could see that his stomach had been cleaved open. An axe, she guessed. Blood had splattered onto the wall, and over his hands. She inferred that he had put up a fight. Of course he had. She was not sure if she was more proud that he had given the Wolves a fight, or more disheartened that he had not survived. She walked all the way to the door and found her mother. She lay on the marriage bed, naked and strangled. What remained of her clothes was strewn across the floor in tatters.

“Oh shit.”

Sylvia had almost forgotten that Afi was with her. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed his eyes were fixed on her raped dead mother. This could not possibly surprise him, could it? She looked back to the morbid scene. It was about what she had expected.

It took a moment, but eventually she found it in herself to move. She walked up to the bed and crouched down. Reaching under the frame, she produced clean sheets. After arranging the body, Sylvia draped the linen over her mother. Leaning down, she kissed the covered form on the forehead and then stepped back. Moving on to her father, she accepted Afi’s help placing his body beside that of his wife. Draping a sheet over him as well, Sylvia placed a kiss on his covered forehead. She stood and looked at them for a long moment, lying there side by side. Her breathing was slow and hard. Grief tugged at her collar. Afi placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shied away from his touch. She suddenly made a sharp turn and left the room.

Walking along the hallway, she reached the next room. Opening the door, she found her sisters. Both bodies were lying on the ground. Both of them had been undressed. Even little Alice was completely naked, her body abused before her throat was cut. Sylvia froze in place. An indescribable pain tore through her chest. She gasped, trying desperately to inhale, but her breath was stuck. A sharp sound rang in her ears. For a split second, she thought a flask had shattered beside her, but the only shards she felt penetrating her skin came from within. The world spun out of focus. She felt like she was falling, falling, falling…