After spending a good amount of time helping around the guild, Guin learned a lot of skills and gained quite a bit of faction credit—but nothing came up about the missing pelt, the traps, or even the corruption in the woods. Just where did these hunters hunt that no one had noticed anything?

The cook called everyone to sit for a late lunch of meat pies, roasted potatoes, leek stew, and several batches of sweets, compliments of Guin, who had become the hunters’ new pet, it seemed. Everyone gathered around a long table—which had appeared like magic when her back was turned—and began talking excitedly to one another, laughing and filling their bellies with good food and cheap ale. A set of giddy men off to the side began to play small instruments, and people sang jolly tunes of hunts and other things. Keeping her eyes and ears peeled, she went around talking to those at the table, building as many connections as she could.

“Would you like a tart, Master Euen?” Guin offered the Master Hunter a plate of the sweets she had made.

The man’s lips curled into a tight smile as he took one gingerly and said, “Thank you, girl.” He began to turn away but instead glanced back at her as if deep in thought. “Tell me,” he started, “How does a girl like you go so deep into the woods? The beasts aside, the corruption... changes them. The ones there now wouldn’t be difficult for hunters like us to deal with, but you? Who are you?”

Guin laughed. “Trial and error, I suppose. And maybe just a bit of luck,” she said. “The hunters haven’t said anything about the corruption. Do they think nothing of the corrupted beasts?”

Dawl shook his head. “They do, yet they do not,” he told her, looking into the woods. “These woods are always strange, even on the most normal of days, but the most obvious signs of corruption are not for the eyes of ‘normal’ men.”

“What do you mean?” Guin asked, putting her plate of tarts on the table and taking one to nibble at.

“What do you think the corruption is?” he asked.

“Death,” Guin told him. “Darkness. Sticky, rot. A disease that spreads over the land.”

“Mmm,” Dawl went, starting to walk toward the forest’s edge. Guin followed. “It is death, in its way. Rot—but not as I think you believe it to be. This kind of Corruption is not like an illness that you can catch. It does not simply spread over the grass and kill the physical body. What you have called ‘corruption’ is simply a description of what you see—not an explanation of an event. The darkness you see? The rot that you smell? We—the hunters; I—know nothing of it except the tales of our elders. Our betters.” Guin looked up at Dawl as he cast his eyes to the ground, hate and sorrow reflecting in them as she realized what he was saying. “The Corruption, you see, is a spirit itself, created by the malice of other spirits—malice so strong that it has gained the power to influence the thoughts and minds of souls and drag them into its own power. The more souls it gathers into itself, the stronger it becomes. But it is not darkness or evil, girl, nor is it anger. It is very depth of sadness.”

Gaping, Guin looked into the forest, clenching her fists. “You said you cannot see it... But then, how do you know all of this?”

“I am a hunter,” he gave her a wry smile. “A hunter of White Fox Forest.”

“That’s not the real answer, though, is it?” she said. “I’ve talked to people around town, the hunters, the teachers, and even Pastor Jormund—none of them know anything. They think it’s all superstition and folklore. Why do you seem to believe it when they do not?”

Dawl sighed. “Jormund, Jormund... that fool,” he muttered, a slight grin appearing on his face. “Bloody walking contradiction, that one is. He will talk till day’s end about the Lady and fill your head with nonsense—all the while denying his reality. I say this, but you would do well to heed Jormund’s words.”

“Because I’m a girl?” Guin asked bitterly.

“Because he is one of the few left in this village who knows what this forest really is,” Dawl told her grimly. “Once, Bade was a bastion of peace and prosperity between the Che and Veil kinds, but now it is just another outpost institutionalized by outside forces. Even before the Paladin came, people had already forgotten the true history of this land. More’s the pity; all good intent became spite. The appearance of Corruption is not unusual in this land—It just hasn’t come for a long, long time.”

“And you and Jormund?”

“Jormund and I... suffice to say, we know the dangers of these woods better than most.”

Yes! Guin exclaimed in her head. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. She would take what she could, so she asked, “How is that? Pastor Jormund didn’t seem too keen on the woods when we talked about it...”

Dawl looked a little uncomfortable, but he told her: “His—ours—is an old story.” He stuck a finger in her face and said, “Understand: There is nothing in this world that is all good, just as there is nothing in this world that is truly evil. Life has never been about good and evil; there is only life and the laws of nature—laws that are to be obeyed.” But as Guin started at him expectantly, he folded his arms. “But you aren’t just going to accept my wisdom, are you?” he said bitterly. “Fine. The village would know most of it anyway, though I doubt they would tell you much. Jormund and I are—were—old friends. I would be yet if I felt I deserved it, but... We made many memories together in these woods. Some were good; others were not. That is the way life goes.”

“One of those laws, I suppose?” Guin asked with an amused snort, which he returned in kind. “Why aren’t you friends now?”

“You will learn as you grow older that people will naturally drift apart,” he told her, but she didn’t like this answer.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But people don’t ‘naturally’ become angry at one another, not without reason. When you were speaking last night, it sounded like you two had some experience with Corruption that appeared before. Did something happen?”

The question made him look even more uncomfortable, and he went over to sit at a nearby workstation. This time, when Guin went over, he began to speak softly. “Something did. Many years ago—though not so many as I wish it were.”

Dawl looked out over the area where the guild was merrymaking, laughter, and dancing, giving such vibrant air in sharp contrast to the shadow that seemed to weigh down the Master Hunter’s shoulders. There was silence between them for a time. They watched and listened to the sounds of life in front of them, around them. Then:

“My grandfather loved these woods,” he started, his voice cracking slightly. “When we were children, we would go to my grandparent’s cottage and listen to his stories—what stories he had! We hung onto every word. So often, he spoke of the spirits and the magical creatures that lived in the woods. In the air,” he lifted his eyes to the sky. “The adventures he went on—I can only dream of them.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“The stories of his youth were our favorites; how he lived, traveling here and there with his friends from the Veil, serving his lord and master until one day, he met a beautiful woman who loved the Lady and joined this village.” Guin’s eyes narrowed. This story sounded familiar. “My father and Jormund’s mother hated him and how he filled our heads with ‘nonsense,’ but together, we learned to love the forest. Be at peace with it—even if we couldn’t see into the Veil like Grandfather did.

“After a while, though, Jormund began to change,” Dawl went on. “He started siding more and more with his mother, a Paladin sent by the imperial church to change us ‘heathens’ into devout followers. Eventually, he, too, began to send cruel words in my grandfather’s direction.” Dawl’s hands gripped his knees tightly as he continued. “In those years, we grew apart. He, bound to the path his mother set him on, and I, keeping at the heels of my grandfather. Grandfather would take me to the woods and teach me the ways, even as he spoke to things that I could not see. I accepted that I, like my mother, simply did not have the Gift. I would never be like my grandfather. I could never be the Servant to the forest as he was.”

“Servant...” Guin muttered. Could it be? “Your grandmother wouldn’t be Alta Noin, would she?”

Dawl looked at her in considerable shock. “H-How...?”

Smiling fondly, Guin sat down on the grass, “Pastor Jormund asked me to visit her. She’s told me stories of your grandfather.”

“D-Did he?” he stuttered, but then the silence returned.

“Did he often visit your grandparents? Jormund?” Guin asked.

“He did. Back then, I didn’t know why. Every time I saw them together, Jormund would look nervous, then angry, often lashing out at me or my grandfather. Grandfather himself would treat Jormund with a strange, uncharacteristic coldness. I know why now, though it does little to undo the pain we went through then. With each passing day, I grew more hateful toward him—and Jormund let me. Time passed, and rather than enemies, we merely became strangers.

“Eventually, Jormund married Melora, my grandmother’s disciple. Melora was well suited for Jormund; a devout servant of the lady, and she was well in love with the noble, pious Jormund.”

Guin stared at him. “...If you are about to go into some woeful tale of a woman who chose him over you of her own volition, I will have lost all the respect I have for you,” she said before he could continue, but Dawl just chuckled.

“No, no,” he waved his hand in the air. “Melora was a lovely young woman, but to me, she was only a sister. At that time, I had had the misfortune of falling in love with a garuli trader who wanted nothing to do with me.” Guin smirked a bit as she imagined this man with someone like Bahena, but rather than being upset about his spurned love, he seemed quite content and continued his story:

“Soon after they had wed, Melora conceived a child. Everything started when she lost it,” he said, his voice turning sad. With a sharp pain in her heart, Guin looked away. “It’s not an uncommon thing, but Melora... did not handle it well. Not wanting to be alone, she would visit with my grandparents every day, busying herself by taking care of them while Jormund buried himself in his work. She had no family of her own, you see, and my grandparents were quite fond of her. For a while, everything was all right—or so we thought. Melora had listened well to the stories of my grandfather, but there was one she most longed to hear—the story of the Che-bound spirits.”

Guin furrowed her brow. “The Che-bound? What about them?”

Dawl hesitated, but decided to tell her what she wanted to know. “The Che-bound are rare, powerful creatures. The stories tell of them wielding the powers of the great beasts themselves, even in our mortal realm. One such story that Grandfather often told was how he had captured a Che-bound spirit and forced it to grant him a wish in exchange for his freedom.”

“A wish...” Guin’s heart began to sink as she predicted the next parts of the story.

“Melora believed it all and believed that she had found a Che-bound Spirit Stag in the woods,” Dawl’s voice grew tight. “When she did not return, he came to me and asked if I had seen her. Together, we went to my grandparent's house, where my grandfather was preparing to leave. He had sensed corruption in the woods.”

“Melora caused the corruption by trapping it?” Guin asked in surprise.

Dawl shook his head. “No. While she had managed to trap it, she did not anticipate that the hunters in the wood would have also found it first—and her. By the time we got there, it was already too late. We found her with the stag, both covered in blood. How she was still conscious at that moment... I can only imagine that it was the spirits’ will. It was then, as I shook in fear in anger while Jormund stood, an image of calm serenity, that I realized the part of him that I had always overlooked.”

“What was that?”

“That is not my secret to tell,” he told her. “And I can tell you no more, for I could not see what happened in the forest that night. I could only sense the powers as they ebbed and flowed. Grandfather told us of the Corruption, and in order to cleanse the spirit, who had since turned malevolent, Grandfather summoned his master and pleaded with him. In the end, my grandfather gave his own life in exchange for the forest.”

Heart jumping to her throat, Guin exclaimed: “What!” Did that mean that even if she got the pelt of the fox spirit, nothing could be done? “What about Melora?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Dawl stroked his beard. “She died. According to Jormund, she had died long before we got there. It was a hunter’s arrow through her stomach. It was the power of the spirit that had kept her in the... half-living state she was in.” The man looked considerably older at that moment as he looked out over the woods. “They... They loved this forest. We loved this forest. I wish I, too, could see the world my grandfather knew. Perhaps then I could have taken some of the burdens back then rather than just have... stood there.”

Thinking about them, Guin felt a deep regret. Among those still living, they all blamed themselves more than they blamed each other—even Alta Noin.

“Ah,” went Dawl with a soft laugh. “Listen to me, going on. The sun is already starting to set. How foolish of me, telling a stranger such a tale..”

Shaking her head, Guin told him, “No. I appreciate it. After all, I am the one that is now fighting that corruption.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said.

“Who else, if not me?” she asked happily.

Dawl cleared his throat, “Haven’t you got someplace better to be than hanging out with old men like me?”

“Well,” she said, standing and stretching. “I have a few more errands to run before the day is finished. You can find me around town if you hear anything about the pelt. I want to avoid what happened to your grandfather. If there's a chance, we should resolve the situation before anyone else dies.”

He nodded absently as she turned and left him.

When she was a good few feet away, Liorax appeared on her shoulder with an unhappy smile on his face.

“Well?” she asked the cat.

“The pelt belongs to our dear Master Hunter—but you already knew that didn’t you?” he said in his sly, bemused tone. “Should we retrieve it?”

Guin paused and looked at Dawl, still sitting at his table, his face holding a lost expression that reminded her of his grandmother. After everything he had told her, after everything that she had heard and seen, the one thing she wanted was to believe in him. In his heart. In the love he had for his friends and family. For the forest.

But how far could she really trust him?

She patted Liorax on the head as he purred. “Give him till tomorrow,” she said. “If he fails, then.... Guess I have no choice but to be a thief. Ahh. Totally not my style. Tch. Stupid game.”

Liorax gave her an amused look, then disappeared into a buff. For now, it should be a proper time to meet with Jormund. The pastor had quite a lot to answer for in her book. Just what was he hiding?

There was only one thing left for her to do: Ask him herself.