The cloak was beautifully white. Not the dull white of bone or the cold white of snow, but a rich, lively white like the flowers of the lily of the valley. It was the most beautiful thing Rose had ever owned, and her fingers shook a little as she carefully fastened the clasp and pulled the hood over her bright blonde hair. Her father smiled warmly at the sight. “You look like a little princess.” Rose blushed a little and fiddled awkwardly with the hem of her skirt. “Thank you, papa. It’s very beautiful.” “You’re too cute for your own good, Rosie. If you get much sweeter someone’s gonna come along and eat you up.” He smiled as he put the last few things in the basket he’d been preparing. “Now, take this to granny so you two can have lunch together. Just because she’s poorly is no reason for her to miss her favourite granddaughter’s birthday, now is it?” Rose nodded and took the basket. It was almost a bit too heavy for her little arms, but she was determined not to let her granny down. She said her goodbyes as her father warned her for the hundredth time not to talk to strangers or stray from the path or stay out after sunset. With the oft-repeated warnings ringing in her ears, Rose stepped out into the cold March morning and headed off into the forest. She’d walked down the path through the woods many times before, but this time it just didn’t feel quite right. The woods seemed darker, the shadows longer and the winds whispering in the trees sounded harsh and unwelcoming. The smell was the worst part, though. The sharp smell of snow and the earthy scent of the woods were overpowered by an acrid, animal smell with strange, coppery overtones. Rose was already on edge when a voice sounded out from among the trees. The voice was hard and powerful, yet it spoke in low tones that were somehow strangely beguiling and sent shivers down Rose’s spine. “Why hello there, little girl. What are you doing out here in the woods all alone?” Hood sat up in bed with a start, cold sweat pouring down her brow as her heart beat like a drum. She shakily pulled herself out of bed and donned her boots and armour, the dream replaying itself in her head over and over again. It was decades since the last time she’d had that particular dream, and she’d been hoping she’d never see it again. She ran a trembling finger against the fabric of her cloak. The dull brownish red cloth was stiff and rigid to the touch, the softness of the wool buried beneath untold layers of old, dried blood. At least she’d woken up before the dream had gotten much further. If it had… Suppressing a shiver, Hood grabbed her sword and left Brynjar’s smithy. Ulrik was woken up by the sound of the door opening and closing. He was camped just outside the front door of the smithy, since even the main room was rather small for a man his size. Besides, he wasn’t at all fond of the smell of soot and burning charcoal. Slowly shaking himself awake, he frowned as he sat up in his bedroll. The crescent moon was still bright in the sky, and the first hints of predawn light were only just visible in the east. Getting up and getting dressed, Ulrik looked around for the source of the disturbance. He couldn’t see anyone nearby, but he did notice Lumpy was pacing restlessly, looking skittish and agitated. “What’s the matter, boy? What’s got you all worked up?” Lumpy huffed and snorted irritably, repeatedly throwing his head in the direction of the nearby forest. “Is there someone in the woods?” The corpulent horse snorted again before going to pick up one of the saddlebags lying on the ground nearby with his teeth. Ulrik took the proffered bag with a raised eyebrow, noting the sloshing noises it made whenever it was jostled. “Why do you think I need…?” But he didn’t get any further, because Lumpy was clearly running out of patience and had started actively pushing Ulrik towards the woods with his head. Not feeling up to wrestling with a horse this early in the morning, Ulrik shrugged and started walking. He hadn’t gotten more than a few dozen yards into the woods when he heard it. Soft grunts, laboured breathing and the swish of a blade cutting through air. Stepping into a small clearing, he saw Hood running through attacks and parries with her sword so quickly the tip of the blade was a blur in the air. There was more than just effort marring her expression, though, and the way the sweat poured off her pale features didn’t seem right. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ulrik called out to her. “Couldn’t sleep?” Hood slid her sword into its sheath in one smooth motion and turned to him with a deep frown, not stepping any closer. “You’re one to talk, Ulrik. Go back to bed.” “Not unless you tell me what’s wrong. Lumpy would never forgive me, for one thing.” Hood sighed deeply, though she couldn’t quite keep a fond smile off her face. “That horse is much too meddlesome for his own good.” ”Perhaps, but it’s not his good that’s the problem right now.” Ulrik stepped closer. “You’re shaking.” Hood tried to suppress her shivers with a small glare, but she didn’t quite manage it. “It’s just a bit chilly, that’s all.” “Nonsense, I’ve seen you deal with far harsher chill without moving a muscle. And the sweat is pouring off you.” “I’m telling you, I’m fine.” “Like hell you are. If you were fine, you wouldn’t be out here, away from everyone and shivering like a leaf.” “I told you to leave it!” Ulrik was about to retort when he suddenly remembered the saddlebag Lumpy had given him. The one that sloshed and clinked as it moved, like… “Hood, when did you last have a drink?” “What?” “A drink. You used to drink like a fish when I met you. But I haven’t seen you touch a drop of spirits since…” He trailed off as he realized it, but Hood finished the thought for him. “Since you almost died.” Ulrik looked at her for a minute before shaking his head and digging a bottle of spirits out of the saddle bag. Hood raised an eyebrow. ”Why do you even have that?” “Lumpy gave it to me. Seemed to think I’d need it.” Hood laughed. It was a short, bitter laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “I suppose my bad habits have rubbed off on him. He knows what calms me down when I get like this.” ”Well, you clearly need calming down now. Drink it.” ”I can’t. I need to stay sharp. I can’t afford not being at my best.” “And this is your best? Shivering and sweating in the woods? By the Gods, Hood. You’ve been fighting demons for how many years now? Fifty? A hundred?” “That and some, but I don’t see your point.” “My point is that you’ve killed more demons than anyone alive, and you’re still here. Whatever else your habits might have done to you, they’ve clearly kept you alive. Now stop worrying about me and think about yourself for a second.” Hood glared at him for a minute before grabbing the bottle from his hand and downing half the contents in a single swig. The familiar burning in her throat calmed her almost instantly, and within minutes the warm haze of strong spirits had chased away the shivers and the sweats. “I… Had a dream.” She admitted at long last. “One I haven’t had in a long time. The drink usually takes the edge off the dreams, but…” Ulrik didn’t say anything, but he put a hand on her shoulder. She considered shaking it off, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Together, the two of them made their way back to the smithy. It was a sombre procession that set out from the smithy the next morning. Ulrik had sent word ahead by courier, hoping to warn the people at the capital of the demons coming their way. The message would take weeks to arrive even by express courier, but with any luck it would get there before the bulk of the demons made it to the capital. Hood had mostly healed from the ordeal of grafting on her new arm, but the flesh around the graft was still tender, and the holy energy flowing from Fell’s hammer-and-anvil symbol in her palm down the golden veins in her metal arm was enough to send constant, stinging pains into her shoulder and neck. The drink helped take the edge off it, but she still winced and swore whenever anything jostled her right shoulder. Even Lumpy was in a bit of a surly mood. He didn’t know where they were headed next, but he could tell they were moving south. With high summer just around the corner, heading south was the last thing the plump horse wanted to do. But where Hood went, Lumpy would always follow. No matter how warm and sweaty it got. Brynjar hadn’t come to see them off, claiming he had better things to do than worry about a young fool and an old crone going out on a fool’s errand. He had taken a look at their weapons before they left, though, making sure they were in good condition and as sharp as they could be. Thus well armed and provisioned, the small group set off at a good pace, and soon they’d left the smithy far behind. Brynjar knelt in front of the little altar in his bedroom. The air was heavy with smoke as he burned an offering of oil and charcoal. In a soft, quiet voice, he beseeched the god of smiths and miners to watch over his one real friend in her travels.