Wander West, in Shadow

Taavetti Bartuk frowned as he removed his spectacles, taking a white silken handkerchief embroidered with his initials out of the breast pocket of his fine, black velvet jacket to wipe one of the lenses. They were finely crafted, surely - none this far east had the knowledge or skill to make them, and Bartuk dreaded the inevitable day when he'd break them by accident - but he was forever smudging ink upon them. He muttered, his sharp dark eyes like little glimmering gemstones in his aged, tanned face as he narrowed his eyes at the offending smudge.

The thick smell of pipesmoke wafted to him as he placed his glasses back upon his sharp nose. He glanced up irritably, frowning at the scent. He was in his office, seated in his comfortable velvet armchair behind his spacious, well-polished desk, papers and documents sprawled out before him, no fewer than three inkwells with plumed quills, all with different color ink, holding down different piles. There, leaning against the bookshelves that lined the room, stood Martimeos, the wizard, puffing away at his pipe, looking paler and more haggard than the last time Bartuk had seen him, dark bruises beneath his eyes, though for all his weariness those eyes studied Bartuk with a quiet intensity, green as a forest's shadow.

The witch, Elyse, stood beside him, in her robes too thin for a winter's day - though Bartuk did not question this; he had known wizards who could keep themselves warm even in an icy river. She kept her arms folded around herself, and stared at Taavetti as well, eyes wide and intense - which he certainly didn't like, it was bad enough to have one practitioner of the Art paying attention to you, much less two. The two of them had forced their way into this meeting. Well, forced was the wrong word; Bartuk had been expecting them here, but they had told him in no uncertain terms they would be present - a statement of fact, not a request.

And of course, in the center of his office, boots tramping mud all over his fine rugs - Kells. The boy looked poleaxed still, stormy gray eyes staring off into nothing, his short black hair a mess. His hands were bound, heavy iron cuffs with thick chain joining them, and he was flanked by two members of the town guard, flaring green pants tucked into freshly cleaned knee-high boots, burnished breastplates gleaming red in the dying light of day pouring through the window, their hands resting on cudgels by their belts.

Bartuk coughed, and then glared at Martimeos. "Did I give you leave to smoke in my office, young man?" he snapped.

"No," Martimeos mused, intent, watchful eyes never leaving Bartuk's face, "I don't suppose you did." He took a quite deliberate, strong pull on his pipe, blowing out an impressive cloud of blue smoke. He made no move whatsoever to put it away.

The wizard was trying to intimidate him, Bartuk realized. So that was how it was going to be. Well, the fool needn't have bothered. He turned his attention back to Kells, the poor boy. Bartuk couldn't imagine how the lad must be feeling; he knew that Roark had been like a father to him. And Bartuk had always felt badly about...what he had had to do to the boy, when he first came to Twin Lamps. Well, at least he could do the lad a kindness here.

Not letting any of his sympathy show on his face, Bartuk snatched up a piece of parchment, snapping it before him, pretending to run his eyes down it, though he already knew what it contained. "So," he said, his authoritative tone ringing out clear in the quiet room. "Liam Kells. The guard has arrested you under suspicion of the murder of Theodore Roark, captain of the guard, and your mentor."

Kells blinked slowly at the sound of his true first name; it had been ages since anyone had called him that. But he remained silent.

"You were found outside of Roark's home, two days ago," Bartuk continued. He grimaced at that, raising a hand to run it through his fine white hair. He had not meant to let Kells languish in the dungeons, suspicion mounting on him for a day. But yesterday had been a whirlwind of madness. He had had to appoint a new captain quickly; at the news that Roark had been murdered in his own home, the people had gone into a panic, pushed over the edge by everything else happening. Crowds had thronged the streets, screaming; the farmfolk seemed on the verge of a riot. He had heard, thankfully, only a few isolated calls for Kells to hang. Guardsmen had been pulled from their patrols in the farmlands to break up the crowds, but still Twin Lamps simmered with fear and anger. "Inside, the headless and brutalized corpse of Roark lay. His blood was still on your hands." He glanced at the two soldiers flanking Kells. Older men, though he did not recall their names; they were probably of high enough rank to lead their own patrols. "Well. What do you two think?"

The two soldiers glanced at each other. The one on Kells' right, a somewhat portly man, red-faced, with a bristling black mustache, shifted uncomfortably. "I...didn't want to believe it myself, sir," he muttered, glancing at Kells. "But I heard it straight from one of my own men. That was how they found him. He didn't even say anything as they put him in chains."

"I said plenty later," Kells growled, anger finally breathing life into him, his grey eyes flashing. He suddenly found himself blinking back tears. His face reddened as he raised his shackled hands with a clatter to wipe his eyes. "I told you, it was the rider-"

The soldier on Kells' left, a bruiser of a fellow with a mouth full of crooked teeth, interrupted him. "The rider, yeah, somehow got past the walls. Nobody but you's seen him in town-"

"We have," Martimeos and Elyse snapped in perfect unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.

"Why would he come into town now if he could always have?" the guard shot back.

Elyse raised a finger and drew a deep breath to launch into a tirade, but Bartuk stopped her with a sharp slap upon the desk. "Enough!" he snapped. "You will speak when I tell you to, or when I ask you a question." He sighed, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms as he let the silence linger for a moment. "Have you yet found Roark's head?" he asked.

"I told them, the rider took it-" Kells began, but withered under Bartuk's baleful gaze.

"No, sir," the mustached soldier replied. "We searched Roark's home top to bottom and found no sign of it."

Bartuk nodded. He shuffled papers before him, speaking without looking up. "Martimeos. Elyse. You said you saw the rider the same night the murder took place."

"Aye," Martimeos replied, while Elyse at the same time said, "He told us he was going to take a head." She glanced at Kells, her face falling. "We....tried to find Kells and Roark in time."

"And what made you think that they would be the ones in danger?"

Martimeos sighed, shifting his red scarf, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "The rider told us it was...punishment, for not finding his brethren for him. For the people who had heard his message before - on our way into Twin Lamps, the talking head we found. Roark and Kells were the other two who had heard it." He shook his head, grimacing. "I do not know why he chose to warn us, and attack Roark. But we saw him disappear into a doorway, just as Kells did - there one moment, gone the next."

Bartuk tented his fingers before him, elbows on the desk, peering over his hands at the wizard and the witch. "And it is your belief," he said quietly, "That this rider is an Outsider."

"Did we not already say this? What else could cause the dead to walk, or vanish into a doorway? What else could make heads speak?" Elyse frowned, glaring at Bartuk. "Either an Outsider, or something truly foul of this world. Either way."

Bartuk nodded, leaning back once more. He removed a plumed quill from an inkpot - black ink - and began scribbling on a piece of parchment, the scratching noises filling the room. "So," he said, as he wrote, "We have two witnesses that saw the rider, and listened to him explicitly make threats to behead either Roark or Kells. Roark was beheaded that same night, and his head has still not been found. They witnessed it escape through a doorway, in much the same way Kells said it had." He looked up, glancing at t he two guards flanking Kells. "I must say - does it not seem a little ridiculous to believe Kells murdered Roark, in light of this? For me there is not much question, hearing the words of the wizard and the witch."

The mustached soldier nodded quietly at this, thoughtful, but the one with a mouthful of crooked teeth shook his head. "Even if the rider could get past the town walls to stalk and murder in the very streets," he asked, "Why now? Why not before?"

Bartuk put his quilled plume carefully back into the inkpot, checking his fingers for ink before adjusting his glasses. His sharp gaze settled upon the soldier. "Have you," he asked, "Ever dealt with Outsiders before?"

"No, sir," the soldier admitted. "I have only ever fought bandits and men."

Bartuk leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, quiet for a long moment. "When I was much younger," he said finally, after the silence had lingered just a moment too long, "I managed my own wagon, running the trade routes out east. Nets, butter and flour to Silverfish. Candles and oil from Silverfish to Pinemoss. Blades and farm tools from Pinemoss to Calais. And from Calais, dried venison and leathers back to Twin Lamps." He recited this by rote, as if from well-ingrained memory. "Well. I saw many strange things on the roads. One of the strangest, on the road between Pinemoss and Calais, was what people called the wandering tree.

"It looked like a normal oak - nothing in particular marked it. But it moved. When you would bed down for the night - or even when you simply didn't look in a particular direction for a while - you'd wake up, or turn around, to find the wandering tree had moved closer to you. Nobody ever saw it moving. But if you weren't careful, you'd wake up with its roots as a pillow.

"Now I was wary of this, the first I saw it. But other merchants told me it had been on this route for years, and never done anything but move closer. It posed no danger, they said - many had gone up to it, touched it, sat beneath it - even slept beneath it - and found it nothing but a tree. We thought perhaps it was fae-enchanted, as one of their strange jokes. And eventually, I got used to it to, after years of seeing it. Even found myself glad to see it, sometimes. Like an old friend.

"Well, one time, a young woman - could not have been older than you, Elyse - pays us to escort her to Calais. Going there to join her brother on his farm, she said. Well, we're a few days into the journey, setting up camp for the evening, when we turn around and the wandering tree is right there, not ten feet from our fire. The woman, she's all excited to see it. She's heard of it, but never seen it before." Bartuk grimaced, shaking his head. "I...told her it wasn't dangerous. She goes over to put her hand on it, like I've seen done hundreds of times by now. Like I've done myself, hundreds of times. Only this time, when she puts her hand on it, it sinks right into the bark, like it was made of quicksand.

"She starts screaming. In panic, at first. But then quickly in pain. Her arm is still sinking into it, and she's going pale, howling in agony. One of my men leaps up, grabs an axe, starts chopping at the tree - but the first bite of the axe into it, and we don't see sap, but blood welling up from the wood. And the woman screams like we had just chopped her with the axe. But more men rush over, hacking with anything they can find, swords, anything - but nothing's sharp enough to bite far into it. We try pulling her out, but it's no use. Eventually, we realized - if we wanted to free the woman, we were going to have to cut her arm off. But by the time we realize that, it's too late. She's in well past her shoulder now; any stroke we could have made would have killed her anyway.

"I had to watch her, sobbing and begging for her life, as her head got swallowed up by that tree. Even then, her feet were still kicking, we could still hear her muffled screams. So we did the only thing we could do. We put a sword in her, and gave her a quick death. And then we packed up camp and traveled through the night, making sure we were always watching in all directions. Not that it mattered. After that, I never saw the wandering tree again."

The room was quiet for some time after Bartuk finished his tale, no noise except the quiet jangle of Kells' changed as he shifted his feet. "I always asked myself," Bartuk said, speaking into the silence, "Why her? Why her, and not the hundreds of other travelers who had touched the tree? What was so special about her? I went over and over it in my mind. I had seen all sorts touch it. Men and women of all ages, children, wizards, witches, even a fae - who swore up and down it wasn't their work. She had no strange belongings on her, was not unusual in any way. Eventually, I realized...'tis just folly to think there was a reason, or at least one I could understand. Outsider, or something else, I would never know why the tree had chosen her to kill. Its mind, if it had one, was simply unknown to me. What it did may never make sense."

When nobody answered this, Bartuk sighed, plucked up a quill, and began scribbling at a piece of paper again. "Kells," he said quietly, "I am having you released on my authority - with Martimeos and Elyse as witness. If you should commit any violent crime while free, myself, and the wizard and the witch will be held partially accountable. Is this agreeable?" he glanced up towards Martimeos and Elyse, who nodded, though Martimeos hesitated before doing so, and Elyse made a face that made him think she didn't really understand what he was saying. "Very good," he continued, regardless, scribbling his signature onto the document he was creating. "I will need your signatures, and then it is done. Guards, unshackle him."

The mustached guard reached for a key ring at his belt, but the other guard stopped him. "Wait," he muttered. "I've never heard of something like this. Just because you're mayor, doesn't mean you can go around releasing prisoners on your own judgement."

Bartuk slid the paper over to Martimeos and Elyse for them to sign, as they approached the desk. And then he folded his hands, pushed up his spectacles, and stared very, very quietly and intently at the protesting guard. The man grew quiet under the weight of that stare; soon enough he began to squirm. He did not say anything when his companion moved forward again to remove the shackles from Kells' wrists. Bartuk noticed, with a little interest, that Martimeos and Elyse relaxed once those shackles were off. He wondered just how far the two would have been willing to go to see Kells free. "You may leave us," Bartuk said coolly to the two guards. "If Kells takes my head, I'll be sure to let you know first."

Kells rubbed his wrists appreciatively as the two guards shuffled out of the room, watching quietly as Martimeos and Elyse signed the document guaranteeing his release. "I...thank you, mayor," he said softly. "And...Martimeos. Elyse. You as well."

"Think nothing of it, boy," Bartuk replied, his voice...gentle? Kells glanced up in shock; he had never heard Bartuk sound that way before. Bartuk almost looked surprised himself - he blinked, then coughed, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. "Now then," he said, his voice becoming sharper. "Kells, I think that at least for now, you working as a guard is out of the question. I wish it wasn't, I could use all the men I could get right now, but there are some fools out there - few as they are - who still suspect you and would not react well to see you walking the streets, brandishing arms." The mayor snatched back the document once Martimeos and Elyse were done with it, tucking it securely into one of the desk's drawers. Then he sighed, rapping his knuckles absent-mindedly against the edge of the wood. "Now. On to further business." He looked to the three standing before him.

Martimeos, with his shaggy, unkempt hair hanging down well past his shoulders, eyes like a dark forest, ragged black fur cloak, travel-stained leathers and handsome face that seemed to contain the faintest hint of a smile even when he was perfectly serious, looked like some kind of wandering vagrant. The wizard had blackened eyes, and, as Bartuk looked closer, he could see nicks and scrapes dotting hsi face here and there. He wondered whether the boy had been starting fights in town. Bartuk had seen plenty of wandering vagrants on the roads in his youth. Something about Martimeos reminded him of the dangerous ones. The ones who brought trouble with them whether they meant to or not.

Not that the witch looked much better. She looked not quite so road-worn as Martimeos, her long black hair trailing blue ribbons. But her tattered black robes and wide-brimmed, pointed hat were strange dress that attracted far too much attention. And that pretty face, half-hidden in the shadow of her hat, and those dark blue eyes - something hid behind them. Bartuk had a nose for secrets, and he did not trust the witch.

Kells, at least, looked like a proper soldier - even now, as troubled as he was, he stood straight and tall, something about him speaking of an easy, ingrained discipline, slim but muscular, his sharp black jacket and close-worn knee high boots flattering him, his face angular and short dark hair only slightly mussed after a stay in the dungeons. But his normally sharp grey eyes seemed unfocused, and his mouth was nothing but a grim line in his face. He was deep in his grief, Bartuk knew.

The three of them weren't the most trustworthy or ready lot. But they were the best thread Bartuk could pull at, at the moment. He pinched his nose, then pinned the three of them with a stare. "Twin Lamps," he said quietly, "Can not survive this rider roaming free within the walls. The farmfolk are restless; the townfolk resentful of them. After Roark's death, the town simmers. I fear all it would take would be one headless corpse wandering through the streets to spark a riot. And the three of you - a wizard, a witch, and a man who some suspect of murdering the captain - would be in more danger than most. On top of the rider himself declaring you a target." He scratched his nose as his sharp gaze passed over the three of them.

Martimeos' eyes widened a bit in surprise. "We have not been harassed. Well, not much."

"Ever been in a riot, boy? I've seen a few in my time." Bartuk shook his head grimly. "Folk lose their minds; it does not take much at all for a mob to choose a target. Any merchant who's seen one will tell you how folk who greeted them with a smile year after year would turn on them in violence merely because they were from out of town. That is all it takes."

Martimeos and Elyse were quiet, as they thought of the farmers who had accosted them when they first entered Twin Lamps, as well as the woman who they had spotted stalking them in the streets. "I...do have my next destination in mind," Martimeos said quietly. "I would head north next, where the rider has rarely been seen. Are you advising me to leave town?"

"Not at all," Bartuk replied. "In fact, I would very much advise against it. Do you think the rider would let you escape his attentions so easily? I suspect that if you were to head north, he would make one of his rare appearances on the path towards the mountains."

What was the mayor doing, Kells wondered, as he watched Martimeos frown in response to this. "So...what are you saying?" Elyse spoke up. "You think it's a bad idea to leave. But if we stay...you are saying we're trapped?"

Bartuk remained silent, merely staring at them, for some time. "Mayor," Martimeos asked quietly, "Is this meant to be some sort of threat?"

"No." Bartuk considered them, his face unreadable, as he leaned back, his chair creaking beneath him. "But Twin Lamps must be free of this rider, and I hope the three of you see how much it concerns you as well. And you have seen the most of it now. You have fought it and escaped; it has spoken to you, in its manner."

Martimeos grumbled, packing his pipe once more to smoke it; Bartuk did not bother to chide him this time. Elyse was quiet, looking pale and withdrawn. It was Kells who broke the silence. "You know, mayor," he said, "I think you're wrong." Bartuk glanced at him, as Kells tried to push past the fog in his head and formulate his thoughts. "You said," he continued, "That the rider didn't need a reason for...appearing in town now. But...I don't think that's true. We've seen that whatever it is, it's not confident enough to approach our larger patrols. And though he had clearly been able to make his way past our walls, he never did until now, and when he did it was not as if he rode freely through the streets. I don't think he behaves without reason. Perhaps whatever he is, he is reluctant to take the risk. And he is driven to do so now because he is becoming impatient. Or desperate."

"Perhaps," Bartuk replied. He considered Kells, staring the soldier up and down. "Or perhaps you read weakness in him where there is none." He paused, his sharp eyes softening. "I...know you must want to kill him, Kells," he said softly. "But we need caution in this."

"We know what he would be desperate for, if desperate he is," Martimeos said thoughtfully, his face hidden behind a cloud of smoke. "His kin. And I have a suspicion who they might be." He took a puff at his pipe, quiet for a moment. He had been mulling this over since the rider had last spoken to them in the alley. How it had simply pointed to the head it bore when asked who its kin were. A woman's head, with bright, flaming-red hair, not much like anyone else in Twin Lamps at all. Flaming red hair that Martimeos had seen himself before. On the men that had burnt down his village. "Do any of the Crosscraw live in Twin Lamps?"

"The savages?" Bartuk blinked in surprise. "Not that I know of. I have not seen any of them since the days of the White Queen. You think they are what the rider seeks? Why come to Twin Lamps for them, when they dwell in the mountains?"

"I don't know," Martimeos replied, muttering. "Just that I believe he carried the head of a Crosscraw woman when last we saw him, and pointed to it when asked who his brethren were. It is the only thought I have on who he may be looking for. And if they truly are his kin, perhaps he hides somehow among the folk, and would be easy to spot."

"I have no idea how a Crosscraw a good two feet taller than the average man would be able to hide himself," Bartuk replied dryly, "Unless you have exaggerated his height when describing him. Still, it is a thought. I will tell the guard to be on the lookout, though I would think that Crosscraw showing up in town would have been well-noted when it happened." He glanced towards Elyse. The witch was fidgeting, looking as if she wanted to say something. He waited for her to speak, but she kept her mouth shut. "Well," he said, giving her a sidelong look, "I need also to think what to do with you three. I cannot afford the men to have you watched and guarded in numbers that would matter all the time. And it would only draw attenton to you, besides."

They spoke a while longer about what protection Bartuk could offer them from the rider. They might be kept under lock and key, to protect themselves, but none of them wanted that - with the rider able to step through doorways and disappear, it was a question whether that would actually afford them any protection anwyay. Still, Bartuk wanted to keep them in one place, easier to watch. Kells would stay with them, it was decided, at the White Queen inn - Bartuk would pay for the room's expenses, and extra patrols added to that part of town. "Though," Bartuk said, as he scratched out his orders on a piece of parchment, plume waving wildly as he scribbled at a furious pace, "I will not expect you to remain confined to the inn. The rider must be dealt with, for both your sakes and that of the town; as those familiar with the Art, your kind are helpful in situations such as these." He waved his hand idly, dismissing them.

Things were quiet, as they closed the door to Bartuk's office. The three of them stood in the finely-carpted hallway in the mayor's manor, the light of day coming through the windows growing dimmer as the day edged towards dusk, the many-colored chandeliers that hung in the hallways banishing the shadow in strange glow.

Now that they were out of the office, Elyse watched as Kells and Martimeos stole awkward glances at each other. Kells winced at the bruises on the wizard's face; Martimeos cleared his throat and made a great show of examining his pipe as if something fascinating lay within the bowl. He felt as if he should apologize, but with everything that had happened, he didn't know how to begin.

"Sorry," Kells began.

"No need to apologize," Martimeos replied quickly, feeling guilty that Kells had been the one to begin. Shame spiked through him; he should have been the one to speak first, after all the man had been through. "I am sorry as well. I had spoken poorly."

"Still," Kells said softly, his eyes downcast, "I should not have-"

"No need. 'Twas just some bruises. Water under the bridge." Martimeos jammed his pipe into his pocket, seemed uncertain for a moment of what to do, and then stuck out his hand gruffly. Kells stared at this for a moment, then shook it, smiling faintly.

"Is that it," Elyse snorted, watching the two as they broke off the handshake. She shook her head. "Just some bruises. You were not the one who had to practice healing." She wheeled on Kells, shaking a finger at him. "I know Martim deserved a good knock after what he said, but you hit him far too hard. You might have addled his brains further than they already are." She meant to say more, but she felt her irritation die down, looking at Kells' saddened, downcast eyes, the grief he kept just barely hidden. "I....just, not that hard again, alright?" she said softly. "If he does something foolish, just...tell me. I'll put itchroot in his boots."

Martimeos grumbled at that, but Kells just gave a faint chuckle, quiet and low. "You have my promise, sister," he told her. "Though, let's just try to avoid any of that. I appreciate you two coming to give your word, truly. But it seems as if Bartuk has gotten it into his head that you two are to help in dealing with the rider."

"Yes," Martimeos said dryly. "He did quite a good job of making it seem as if we were trapped in Twin Lamps, unless we gave our assistance. I wonder whether that is truly the case."

"Are you not curious, Martim?" Elyse asked softly. Kells glanced at her as she turned to him, her face serious and grim. "I...did not speak of it in front of the mayor," she said, "But...since seeing the rider, I have...remembered seeing him before. I would have sworn that I had not, before coming to Twiin Lamps...I had wondered if I was simply imagining things, but it happened to Martim as well."

"Aye," Martimeos confirmed, after a moment's pause. "'Tis true. It makes little sense, but the memories are there."

Kells regarded them both quietly, watching the shadows play on their faces. "You've seen the rider before Twin Lamps?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Both of you?"

"That's just the thing," Elyse replied. "You said you had as well. When you told us...the story of your father, and how you came to Twin Lamps, you said you had seen him as well. Is he in your memories, too...?"

Kells stared at her for a moment, then put a hand to his head. "Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes. "My thoughts are in a haze right now. If I had said that, perhaps it was merely because I was drunk. Right now I find it hard to think of anything but the rider. I cannot close my eyes, but I see him."

Elyse and Martimeos glanced at each other. "Of course," the wizard said. "Some sleep in a comfortable bed, I think, would do you well. Perhaps we should make our way back to the White Queen."

They made their way out of the manor, down through the darkened hallways lit with candles, downstairs to where the luckier farmers took shelter under Bartuk's generosity. Though after what the mayor had said, it was difficult not to look at them, and see ill-intent in their dull, angry stares; sullen and tired and longing for their homes, the farmfolk crowded in the corners of the manor's lower floors, watching them silently as they passed. Martimeos recognized Vincent there, the young farmer with brilliant golden hair, looking as if he was doing his best to raise his fellow farmer's spirits, but there was only so much words could do for people who had been so long deprived of their homes. Every whisper among the farmfolk seemed as if it were about them; every mutter seemed to carry a threat.

Outside the manor, they found the two guards that had been flanking Kells in Bartuk's office; now ordered to escort them back to their inn. The red-faced, mustached took this in stride, but the guard with the crooked teeth seemed a bit sour over it.

They made their way back along the snow-covered grounds surrounding the town's manors, the approaching twilight casting a dim purple haze over the icy snow that surrounded them. They came to a dip in the path created by a gently rolling slope, where the snow that had melted during the day had gathered into a large puddle, nearly large enough to be called a small pond. Martimeos stared at the fractured sunlight dancing on its rippling surface as they approached, lost in thought. Then, when they were some distance away, he noticed it. "Hold!" he whispered furiously, holding up a hand to halt everyone. "Hold!"

"What is it?" Elyse whispered by his side.

"In the water," Martimeos replied, barely daring to whisper loud enough to be heard. "Look."

There, in the center of the snow-water puddle, the water dipped down in four circular indentations. It should not have been possible; the water should have flowed into them.

It was as if a gigantic horse stood in the center of the puddle, invisible to the eye.

One of the guards muttered a curse as the hoof-prints in the water began to move, utterly silent even as they sent waves and ripples through the water. Thankfully, they moved away, rather than towards them. They watched, completely silent, not daring to move, as the hoof-prints slowly made their way across the water. And then, still in the middle of the puddle, suddenly there were only two hoof-prints, then one, then none.

They watched for some time, wondering if they would reappear. But not so long that they were caught outside in the gathering dark.