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Taking the blue glass vial in hand, Walter saw a list of instructions on one side of the bottle as well as warnings.

‘Shake well before drinking, and take one sip every four hours for effective results.

Additionally do not let it come into contact with exposed wounds.

And do not drink more than six times a day.’

Pocketing the bottle with a bit of caution, Walter discovered to his surprise that his belongings had been stacked up neatly by the doorway. A worrying thought since he hadn't realized they had been taken from him. But even more surprising was the notion that he hadn’t felt it happen.

Shrugging those worrisome thoughts aside, he slipped his backpack on, shouldered his rifle, and belted the shortsword on around his waist. He then took one last look around him, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of sadness. The beauty and mystery of this place had been replaced by a stark emptiness that hurt the soul.

Sighing heavily in regret, he left the farmhouse behind and turned his attention towards the golden horizon. Wreathed in burning flames that warmed his bones, he watched the sun slowly rise, and gazed northward past the house towards the sprawling forest. And for what felt like the first time in his life, he felt the thrill of adventure, anticipation, and a touch of fear. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and as he started towards the tree line where the Forest of Blackwing began it became more and more real to him. Here he was, Slow Footed Walter, going on adventure to help his liege Lord Huxelberry. But as he thought about it a second time, it really dawned on him. He was going on a quest to help his liege Lord Huxelberry.

And whether it was the weight of responsibility on his shoulders or the thought of disappointing his lordship, Walter stood up straighter, and began marching away at a brisk trot. It was time to show everyone else what he was made out of. Maybe walnuts? Or something else that was tough to crack.

A little more than an hour into his journey however, he came to a halt before towering trees that defied imagination, thick roots that crawled across the ground like worms, and worst of all, a tangle of thorny bushes that blocked his path forward. Wickedly sharp with pointy edges that protrude outward, it looked like a maze of death.

It was also then that he realized why it was so dangerous to walk into Blackwing Forest. For if bloodwings were attracted to the scent of blood which would most assuredly happen the second he walked inside, he would become bait for the bloodflies.

Having never personally seen a bloodfly, or bloodwing himself as they’re commonly known, Walter wondered if they were truly that dangerous. All the tales he had heard of them described them as the size of pumpkins, had prickly midnight skin, and razor sharp fangs. But all Walter could imagine was a flying pumpkin, and that didn't seem all that scary to him.

Taking a hesitant step forward if only to see if the threat was real, he felt his skin suddenly tingle, and the ripe stench of rotting carcasses overwhelm his nostrils. Shoulders sagging abruptly under the weight of an oppressive force, he caught sight of movement in the trees above, and heard a strange croaking sound.

Terrified for reasons beyond his understanding, he quickly took a step back, and immediately felt his knees go weak with relief. It was like he had been drowning in an ocean before someone had ripped him free.

Panting heavily as though having run a thousand miles, he stared into the pitch black forest, and a part of him was unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Still able to taste the foul stench that had welcomed him in, he gagged a little into his arm, and shook himself. Gods, but that smell alone was enough to deter anyone from going inside.

Head still shaking from side to side, he eventually pulled open his knapsack, and stared down at the bottle of scaleskin. Not really liking the idea of trusting a sorcerer, he considered tossing the vial away, before he gritted his teeth and took it out. It wasn’t like he had any other choice.

Shaking it for a few seconds, he unstoppered the bottle, and after a deep breath to calm himself, he downed a sip of the foul smelling concoction.

Tasting like mud, rotten eggs, and what he thought had to be wet dog, Walter almost spat the potion back out, before he forced himself to swallow it whole. Coughing uncontrollably as he tried hard not to vomit, Walter bent forward, his stomach churning, and his skin clammy with sweat. Half sure now that he had been poisoned, he vowed vengeance in the next life against the mage, pictured his father gazing at him with a smug smile, before the effects began to wear off.

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Feeling much better, he wondered how long before the potion would work its magic, when he realized that his skin was changing. Gasping aloud as scales sprouted out of his flesh, he could only watch in wonder as it quickly covered his entire body.

Hoping that it was not permanent, Walter flexed his new flesh, and was delighted how similar it felt to real skin. Was this what real magic was like? Half imagining what other potions could do, he hesitantly turned his attention back towards the trees. It was time he faced his fear.

Still remembering the horrible sinking feeling that had overpowered him, he drew his shortsword, and after a few deep breaths strode forward. Immediately surrounded by thorny bushes, he struggled in deeper, and felt nothing. No scratches clawed his skin, no thorns stabbed his body, and the oppressive weight in the air was gone. Continuing into the gloom of the forest with cautious steps, he looked up into the trees, and thought he saw shadows moving in among the canopy.

Certain that they had to be bloodflies, he pressed on quickly, swinging his shortsword to slice a path through the thorn bushes. Swallowing at the foul stench of death that permeated the air, he noticed the ground ahead of him darken, before opening up into a wide clearing.

Gazing around him in shock as he looked back, he realized that he must have traveled for dozens of miles as Hycal’s farmhouse appeared like a vague shape in the distance. Taking another step forward, he heard the crack and crumble of something beneath his foot, and looked down to see bones hidden beneath the leaves. Too numb with fear as he brushed more leaves aside with his foot, he gasped at the sight of dozens if not hundreds of bones that littered the earth. It was like he had entered a graveyard of death, and everywhere he looked he could see bones poking out from beneath the foliage.

Alarmed he would end up the same way, he fell back in a panic, unable to believe how foolish he had been. Saints! But his father had been right, he wasn't cut out for this. What had made him think he could do this on his own?

Heart pounding in his chest, he thought about Penny, the only girl that had believed in him, thought about the Constable's words to him, and lastly he thought about Sergeant Durgan. One way or the other, they had all believed in him at some point, and he had let them all down. Especially Penny, he should never have hurt her like that.

And it was those thoughts that brought him back. He had to do this for their sake, but more importantly for himself as well. He couldn’t just sit back and do nothing while the whole world moved on without him.

Feet planted firmly on the ground as determination flooded through him, he ignored the crunch of bones underfoot, and searched the gloom for signs of Robar’s camp. With no clear indications of where to go, he thought about continuing north, his gaze on the tree branches above, when he heard the shuffling sound of movement.

Dropping immediately to his belly, Walter hid himself behind a tree, and almost dropped his shortsword as two men dragged a third behind them. Dressed in well polished steel plate, they were equipped with longswords and rifles, and had the lean look of fighters.

One of them, a badly scarred warrior with claw marks on his face, dropped the foot of the dead man and growled, “we should just leave him here.”

The second man, a heavily bearded giant with dark pitiless eyes, snarled back, “do you want Robar to find out we killed Ygren?”

His scarred visage growing pale at the mention of the bandit leader’s name, the first man replied, “it's not like it were our damn fault? Yrgren was the one that drew steel first.”

His big head shaking from side to side, the broad shouldered warrior stared down at the dead man’s corpse. “Aye, but it were us meant to be on watch, not drinking. If he ever finds out we killed him, he’ll have us skinned alive, before giving us over to his pet mage and turned into one of his dregs.”

“God’s spit, why don’t we just bury him here. The bloodwings will take care of him soon enough.”

“Bloodwings prefer fresh meat, stink breath. They won’t touch Ygren’s carcass unless they’re starving.”

“That’s crap, I heard Telvor tell how a bloodwing ripped the head off a dreg, and they've been dead for years.”

Clearly having had enough of the argument, the bearded man released a heavy sigh and nodded his head. “Fine, but let’s be quick about it. I don’t like the idea of being so close to a bloodnest.”

Done with their discussion, the two heavily armored men dropped to their knees and began digging a hole using their knives and hands. Once done, they plopped the dead bandit inside, and lightly covered him over with dirt.

Lips dry with fear at the thought of either one of them looking over in his direction, Walter wondered if he should move, when they stood up, and headed away from him.

Still coming to terms with what he had heard, Walter couldn’t help but feel a shiver go through his bones at the thought of a bloodnest. Even the very words suggested something he definitely did not want to see.

Standing up slowly to make sure they were gone, Walter could see the track marks of the two heavily armored warriors, when an idea suddenly occurred to him. If he followed their trail, they would probably lead him back to their camp. Problem was, Walter didn’t much like the idea of shadowing a pair of men that looked like they could break him like a twig.

Still with not much else to go on with, he glanced down at the face of the dead man that was partially uncovered. A young man with a scraggly black beard and glassy blue eyes, Walter guessed him to be no older than twenty summers. It seemed a pity that someone that young had died out here like this, but then he was a bandit. Scum that had made other people’s lives miserable.

Turning away to follow the trail, Walter had only taken a few steps, when he heard the flutter of wings behind him. A shiver running down his spine, he looked back and nearly tripped over himself as a monstrous black bird settled on the ground behind him. With beady red eyes, a beak full of razor sharp teeth, and leather black wings, it leaned down to tear the flesh off the dead boy’s face and gobble it down.

Bile rising up at the back of his throat at the god awful sight, he quickly turned, and slowly backed a few steps to make sure it wasn’t following, before hurrying away.