Chapter Two: Beneath the Raven's Gaze

The moon hung low in the night sky, a spectral lantern casting an otherworldly glow upon the earth. Wisps of white fog, like ethereal serpents, wove through the towering cornstalks, their rustling a symphony of desolate whispers—secrets of dread and sorrow. The air crackled with tension, every heartbeat synchronized with distant, plaintive howls, the sounds of unseen spirits, souls forlorn.

Out from the maze's oppressive shadow, the Ranger stepped forth, shrouded in a dark mantle. Each step echoed with the weight of his grim duty. Mareg, his face etched with grim resolve, lunged forward, though his furrowed brow betrayed trembling anxiety. “We heard the howling... we feared the worst,” he rasped, his voice quivering. Nearby, Caldon, shorter and clawing at his dread, cast fretful glances at the maze, a vessel of unease. “The child... she... is she gone?”

Inside the Ranger, a tempest raged, emotions swirling like dark, churning waters. In his arms lay Felna, lifeless, a tragedy of loss so tangible it sought to crush him. He laid her down with a reverence born of sorrow. Mareg and Caldon drew near, disbelief etching their features. Silence descended, a thick veil of mourning suffusing the air.

The moonlight kissed Felna's delicate visage, now marble-pale and unnervingly tranquil—a heart-wrenching epitaph to the calamity that had befallen her. The distant howling lingered, a haunting litany, as those gathered grappled with anxiety, anger, and an insatiable curiosity about the shadowy events in the labyrinth.

A chill ran through Mareg and Caldon as the Ranger steadied himself and spoke, "There was a beast in the maze. Judging from the wounds on the child, I’d say this beast was responsible." The words hung heavy in the air, drawing expressions and gasps of horror from Mareg and Caldon.

Mareg’s fists clenched. “And what of the beast?” His voice trembled, barely contained rage simmering beneath.

"I killed it," the Ranger continued, his voice low and somber. "But when it fell, it changed. It became a woman. Naked, with nothing but a belt and a dark birthmark on her collarbone.” 

The weight of his words lingered. Caldon’s eyes widened with horror. “The baker’s wife…” He almost whispered as he stared at Felna.

Mareg went stiff, staring at the Ranger then turning his gaze towards Caldon. Their fears were bubbling to the surface, skepticism and anxiety woven into a tapestry of dread. His voice dropped to a near whisper, “The baker said something was wrong with her. But this...”

The atmosphere grew denser, as if the very air conspired to heighten their anxiety. Mareg took a deliberate step forward, his presence an attempt to reclaim control over the rising tide of their fervor threatening to engulf them. "We must get back to town," he declared, his voice a steady beacon of reason in the swirling chaos. "This is complicated and changes everything. We need to be very careful about what we do next."

Caldon's eyes darted between Mareg and the Ranger, disbelief etched onto his features. "But how do we explain that the children died from a beast, and the Ranger, who coincidentally showed up just as this happened, says he killed a beast who became a naked woman, who is the Baker’s wife?" His skepticism was palpable, each word hanging heavy with doubt.

A collective shiver ran through them, the chill of uncertainty gripping tight. Mareg's brow furrowed as he sighed deeply, casting a troubled look at Caldon and then the Ranger. "I don't know, Caldon. We will have to investigate and find proof of what happened."

Mareg’s words, though rational, felt fragile against the howling wind and the mystery that enshrouded them. Caldon’s voice rose again, sharper this time, edged with a panic that did little to veil his anger. “How do we expect to make the others believe that the baker’s wife is a monster who killed these children? It’s impossible! She was just a woman! How can we trust HIS word?" His finger pointed accusingly at the Ranger, who bristled under the scrutiny. “You just appeared out of nowhere, and now you claim to have fought a beast?”

The Ranger’s eyes hardened, a flash of something dark and resolute crossing his features. "I can understand your distrust," he began, keeping his tone controlled, yet there was a depth to it that demanded attention. "But believe me, I have no interest in spinning tales. I faced the beast in that maze. When it fell, it transformed. It became a woman with a belt and a dark birthmark on her collarbone. These are merely the facts as I witnessed them."

Mareg, feeling the tension mounting to a breaking point, raised a hand for calm. “We can argue all night about what may or may not have happened, but it won't bring us answers. Now, let’s head back for the night, collect ourselves, and for goodness sake, let’s bring poor Felna to her family.”

There were no further arguments to be made with that. In the deepening night, as shadows lengthened and the moon's pale light became a shimmering specter upon the fog, the Ranger’s gaze remained steadfast. Silence, thick and unbearable, settled over the group. The distant howling now felt like a cruel omen, a herald of the unknowable horrors that lay ahead.

The Ranger stooped to pick up the girl, understanding that he may be asked to help with bringing the girl home. However, Caldon stepped in with a hand towards the Ranger in protest.

“I’ll be the one.” And with that, as the Ranger stepped back, Caldon struggled then stooped and picked up the girl. He gave one last, solemn look to Mareg, then began to walk into town. 

The Ranger watched, and Mareg came to stand beside him. “I want to leave right away, “ the Ranger said. “I never wanted to be part of this; I just agreed to retrieve the child,” he stammered.

Mareg's gaze was Caldon’s silhouette in the night. "I need you to stay. You need to help us with this.”

The Ranger turned coldly, as if to say, I wasn’t asking. Mareg responded, “I cannot go into the town and explain what you just said to them… "

"I really don't want to-" The Ranger began, but Mareg’s gaze hardened. His voice dropped to a low, persuasive tone, “If you want to continue to be feared and treated like an outcast, then go. But if you want to prove yourself—if you want to show that you’re more than just a shadow lurking in the corners of this community—you need to stay.”

The Ranger's heart raced, the weight of Mareg’s words holding him captive. He did not nod, nor smile, nor grimace, nor frown, nor furrowed his brow. He just stared into the shadow that waddled into the night, holding the lifeless child. And after some time, he stated monotonously, “Fine. I’ll stay.”

Mareg’s expression softened slightly, but the urgency remained. “Thank you. Go back to the inn. Rest, as much as you are able, as you have earned. Tomorrow, when addressing this with the town, we won't explain what you said, we will only say you retrieved the child, and the body of the Baker's wife is still there for her husband to retrieve. We will make no mention of a beast.”

The Ranger trodden off, with no response or sign of one. As he headed toward the inn, the howls echoed ominously in the distance, a haunting echo of shadows by deeds wished to be forgotten.

***

The innkeeper slowly turned the handle so as not to have it squeak and placed a hand on the door to finesse it open so the hinges did not creek. Staring at the Ranger, in his trousers and shirt, laying on his side and peacefully asleep, she whispered as loudly as she dared, to awaken the Ranger, but not the other patrons, “Lenar, wake up!” Mareg stirred and rolled towards her. She resumed her words when she was sure of his awareness. “Mareg has called for you. The townsfolk are gathering. He says, ‘It’s time’.”

Groggy and still ensnared in the nightmares of recent events, the Ranger sat up, blinking against the encroaching weariness. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep. She nodded and then attempted to make her exit through the door as silent as her entrance. As the door shut, enclosing the Ranger in solitude, he took a moment to breathe, anchoring himself in the present.

The silence of the room was stark; a contrast to the chaos that had been persistent since he arrived. He moved deliberately, each motion weighted with conviction. He pondered the few possessions scattered about the room. Should he pack them all, abandon this place marred with sorrow and confusion? Or should he honor his agreement with Mareg, however tenuous, and face the town armed only with his resolve and his blade?

The decision gnawed at him, an internal battle between the desire to flee and the responsibility to stay. His hand hovered over his well-worn satchel, fingers brushing against the coarse fabric. Every sinew of his being ached for escape, a return to obscurity, a reprieve from the burden of others’ perceptions and judgments.

Images of the previous night cascaded through his mind in a torturous montage—the howling winds, the terror in the eyes of the Mareg and Caldon, the lifeless body of the little girl, Felna. Her pale, fragile face was etched in his memory, a haunting reminder that fate had entwined his path with hers. His heart clenched with the memory, and reopened a wound that time had not healed but deepened.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the shadows that clung to him. But the vision of Felna persisted, forcing him to confront his reality. He remembered the battle with the wolf in vivid detail—the beast’s fetid breath, its gnashing teeth, and the primal ferocity of their struggle. He had felt something nearly forgotten during that fight—a surge of strength, a rekindling of a warrior’s spirit. He had vanquished the demon and retrieved the girl’s body against overwhelming odds. That victory, small as it seemed in the grand spectrum of his life, invigorated him with a sense of purpose.

What did he have to fear from mere accusations and rumors? The inviolable law of Destiny had led him here, crafted this trial, and he had passed it, even if barely. Fate was a relentless weaver, and it was not done with him yet. He was part of this tapestry, whether he willed it or not. Felna’s peace with her family was his to ensure—it was a thread that required his presence to tie off.

The echoes of these thoughts surged, banishing cowardice from his mind. No, he couldn't leave. Not yet. Even if it meant facing something unpleasant, the choice was clear. Besides, he reassured himself, if things got truly dire, I could still flee—none among these townsfolk could match me, or stop me if I chose.

He dressed quickly, each piece of clothing methodically fastened, his cloak draped over his shoulders like a mantle of determination. With a final, reverent touch, he slid his sword into its sheath—the comforting weight a reminder of battles fought and won. The Ranger took a lingering glance around the room, as if absorbing the silent promise of return before stepping into the foreboding dawn.

He exited the room, the hush of the inn contrasting with the discordant hum of the town coming to life beyond. Each step towards the town square bore a purpose, his earlier uncertainty replaced by a quiet resolve.

Stepping out into the biting chill of the early morning, he made his way through the winding streets of the sleeping town. As he traversed cobblestones slick with dew, each step felt heavy, echoing his grim purpose. His breath hung in the air, a visible token of the cold morning.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, a pungent reminder of autumn's grip on the land. The Ranger moved through the town square, the cool breeze whispering secrets of loss and sorrow. Shadows danced beneath the flickering candlelight, illuminating the faces of the townsfolk, who were gathered in a tight cluster. Their expressions mirrored grief and disbelief, an unspoken consensus of dread and uncertainty.

As he approached, the murmur of voices gradually hushed, all eyes turning towards him with a mixture of hope and suspicion. Mareg stood in a semi-circle with elders and prominent members of the community. For a brief moment, the Ranger hesitated at the edge of the square, feeling the weight of their collective gaze. Then, squaring his shoulders, he pushed forward through the crowd, each step bringing him closer to Mareg and the looming reckoning that awaited.

The town square buzzed with anxious voices, the undercurrent of tension threading through the crowd. Mareg moved to the center, his presence commanding a semblance of order amid the encroaching chaos. The elders flanked him, their faces carved with fatigue and worry, casting solemn glances over the gathering.

Mareg held up his hand, and the silence that followed sliced through the morning air. His voice, both strong and sorrowful, resonated deeply, each word meticulously chosen to harness the crowd's brewing emotions. "My friends, our hearts are heavy with sorrow today. Last night, under the advice of the council, the Ranger ventured into the maze and discovered the lifeless body of young Felna. Though her loss wounds us, we are grateful to him for bringing her home."

A wave of murmurs broke through the crowd, a tide of whispered condolences and shared dread. The collective breath of grief was audible, raw, and tangible. One of the elders, a weathered man with silver hair named Dunthyoa, stepped forward. "The Ranger’s journey verifies that there is no immediate danger now within the maze. His courage allowed us to retrieve Felna and confirmed the need for further investigation."

Mareg nodded solemnly. "Indeed, Dunthyoa speaks true. In order to prove there is no more threat, and in order to ensure none of us, including our children, will be at risk, The counsel has decided to select a group to begin our investigation today. Our first duty will be to venture into the maze and ensure this threat is fully understood and eradicated. I will lead this group along with the elders."

His gaze swept across the assembled townspeople, seeking the faces that had been pre-chosen. “Tzena the Inn Keeper, Edrel the Weaver, and Selme the Cooper—please step forward.” Three figures emerged from the crowd, faces resolute yet shadowed with fear of the unknown.

Mareg's eyes then rested upon the town's baker, Branyoa. The Ranger remembered his first entry into town, passing by Branyoa's stall during the festivities. The baker, once full of genial cheer, now seemed hollowed by fate’s turn. "Baker Branyoa, your knowledge of the maze’s history and construction could be invaluable. Please, join us."

Branyoa hesitated, eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination, but he stepped forward nonetheless. The Ranger watched this procession, a veil of unease settling over him. The selection of townsfolk felt carefully curated, yet beneath this precision, there lingered an undercurrent of something unspoken, something that danced just outside the realm of explanation.

As the chosen group stood before the crowd, Mareg resumed, his voice rallying the remaining townsfolk. "We ask, as we cannot assume, for the Ranger to also join us.”

All eyes turned toward the Ranger, and he felt it. He moved toward Mareg and the group of the chosen. He took his place next the others and looked out at the crowd, seeing the myriad of faces processing this choice, angry with this choice, and confused with this choice.

Despite this, Mareg continued. “With our group chosen, we ask you to disperse, grieve in your fashion, pay respects to Felna’s family, and begin to heal as we return to our duties. I assure you, we will leave no stone unturned, no path unexplored. We will bring light to these dark corners and ensure the peace for our community."

Although he was among them, the Ranger stood apart from the gathering, observing the scene with a critical eye. The meticulous preparation, the way Mareg and the elders guided the town's emotions—there was a seamless choreography to it, almost too perfect. He squinted, conflicted by a nagging sense of peculiarity, as if the town collectively held a secret just out of his grasp.

The elders exchanged nods, their solemn agreement marking the next steps. Slowly, the townsfolk began to disperse, their murmurs filling the cold morning air. Each face carried a fragment of the collective dread, a heavy burden that seemed to settle over the square like a shroud.

Mareg turned his attention to the chosen group, gathering them with a gesture. "Thank you all for coming together for this," he called as they approached.

"We stand at a crucial juncture," Mareg began. "Before we begin our duties I must ask, are all of you willing and able to assist us with this investigation?” The others looked at each other as they nodded. “Good,” Mareg continued. “Now, our first order of business is to go into the maze, but before we do, do any of you have pressing matters that need tending?"

The Cooper spoke first. "I need to inform my apprentice about the tasks for the day, so the workshop doesn’t fall behind."

Mareg nodded. “Okay, why don’t you all make arrangements and meet us at the entrance to the maze. We’ll gather there shortly."

As the chosen group dispersed to address their respective duties, Mareg approached the Ranger, pulling him aside as they walked towards the maze’s entrance. "We need to discuss something crucial," Mareg said, his voice low and urgent. "The elders and I have decided to inform the others of your account. However, we won’t reveal the identity of the person who transformed in the maze."

The Ranger’s brows knitted in curiosity. He didn’t speak, but listened for Mareg's, whose eyes narrowed with intent. "We included Branyoa the baker among the chosen for a specific reason. We suspect that the person you encountered—the one who transformed and died in the maze—might be the baker’s wife. We would like to see for ourselves, but we would also like to see what Branyoa’s reaction would be."

A chill ran down the Ranger's spine, but he remained composed. Mareg continued, "We need to approach this delicately. The town is already on edge, and pointing fingers without proof could incite panic."

The Ranger, still silent, pondered the intentions behind Mareg and the elders' calculated approach. He kept his thoughts guarded, sensing layers of intrigue woven into their every word and decision.

The cool morning air was a welcome contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within. It wasn't quite fall yet, but the transition was palpable. Mornings were increasingly cooler, a refreshing breeze kissing his face and bringing with it hints of the inevitable change in seasons. His eyes drifted upward, noticing the flurry of clouds scudding across a pale, early light sky, while the trees swayed gently in the wind, their leaves whispering secrets of autumn’s imminent arrival.

The rustling of the corn maze was uniquely melodious, a symphony of nature that provided a temporary veil over their grim purpose. The Ranger found a peculiar solace in it, a momentary reprieve from the weight of his thoughts. He listened intently as the elders conversed in subdued tones, their voices harmonizing with the natural sounds around them.

Mareg, ever the leader, revisited the plan with an air of command. “We will move through the maze together. Remember, our goal is to get to the clearing and gauge the reaction of the group.”

The Ranger’s mind wandered even as he listened, evaluating the peculiarities of the morning and the subtle intentions of those around him. Mareg’s strategy was sound, but the Ranger couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface, a hidden contour in the landscape of their mission.

Minutes later, the others returned, having made the necessary arrangements. Their expressions were a mix of resolve and unease, each prepared for the unknown quest ahead. Mareg gathered them at the threshold of the maze, the entrance a yawning mouth of darkness, steeped in foreboding.

***

The sun hung low in the late morning sky, casting an ochre-tinted glow over the clearing within the maze. The rustling cornstalks whispered with the crisp breath of fall in late summer, their golden hues contrasting against the cerulean sky. Yet, a sense of foreboding intertwined with the beauty of the season, weaving an invisible shroud of anxiety that lay heavily upon the ragged group as they ventured further into the labyrinth's depths.

In this somber setting lay the lifeless form of the baker’s wife, exposed against a backdrop of rustling cornstalks. The cruel lacerations that crossed her skin were like macabre brushstrokes on an unfinished canvas—a chilling testament to the violence that had silently breached their community's peace.

The Ranger stepped wordlessly aside, allowing the onlookers to absorb the ghastly reality before them. Gasps of horror punctured the atmosphere, as the gathered exchanged silent glances of dread and disbelief. Mareg's face blanched, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. Compassion moved him to cloak her still form with his own—a futile attempt at dignity amidst utter despair.

The baker, Branyoa, appeared next—a man broken by fathomless grief. As his eyes fell upon the body of his beloved, his knees buckled beneath the weight of the revelation. He crumpled to the ground with a strangled cry, a sound that reverberated through the clearing like a mournful aria. His trembling fingers brushed against her frozen skin, desperate as if seeking to recover warmth long fled.

“My dear wife,” he lamented, his voice quivering like a fragile leaf caught in a tempest. “How could this be? You were just here with us... My love... my heart...” The sweetness of his sorrow shattered, slicing through his heart with each syllable, transforming all too soon into a hard-edged pain. His gaze, darkened with burgeoning rage, pivoted abruptly towards the Ranger.

An awkward silence fell, heavy and enduring, stretching the moment into an extendedl question mark. The group shifted uncomfortably, the tension almost palpable as it crackled through the morn-lit air. Branyoa's grief-laden gaze was unwavering, simmering with accusation and desperate disbelief.

“You… came into the clearing… to kill a beast?” Branyoa asked slowly, his accusation like a distant thunderclap in the charged silence, each word dripping with the venom of despair.

The Ranger did not answer. He could feel the group, one by one, understanding what had happened based on the sight they beheld. He looked upon the faces of Tzena, Selma, and Edrel. They looked around as well, and were not sure what to do or say next.

Branyoa’s eyes looked around as well, but quickly latched onto the Ranger's with a fierce sense of seeking, demanding explanations from a man he both condemned and counted on. The Ranger remained silent, absorbing the chaos and shaping his resolve.

Mareg, sensing the urgency of the moment, stepped closer. "Branyoa, we're all searching for answers," he began softly, though his voice held a steady authority. "But let us establish some facts first.”

Tzena, her face drawn with concern, replied. Her voice was gentle but probing. "Ranger, when you found the body, was she—I mean, could she have been... changed? Do you know what happened before you arrived?" Her words reflected the town’s shared fear—a metamorphosis as horrific as the death itself.

The Ranger met Tzena's eyes briefly, offering a measured look before he finally broke his silence. "I entered the maze as agreed with the elders," he said, his voice steady yet carrying an undercurrent of weariness. "I found Felna laying there,” he pointed. Selme, standing near, stepped away. “She was cold, so I covered her.” The Ranger stepped closer to where Selma stood, and faced a part of the clearing. “I was crouched next to her, covering her with my cloak, and from there I heard something and looked. It was a beast…”

Edrel, his voice a baritone cut through the rustling corn, pressed further. "And where was his wife? Where was she when you entered—" He faltered, as if realizing they stood on the brink of truths better left buried, then continued, "Before this terror unfolded, did you witness her death?"

The Ranger shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed. "When I arrived, she was not here. Only Felna. The Beast appeared and came after me.” The Ranger placed his hand on his hilt. “I fought it and won.”

“That’s not what I asked,” stated Edrel. “Where was the Branyoa’s wife when you entered?”

“She was not here!” the Ranger emphasized.

Edrel was visibly frustrated; it was obvious he did not agree to the chain of events that seemed to be told. He shook his head and darted his eyes away, flummoxed, but unsure what to do or say next.

The Ranger inhaled deeply, steadying himself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I fought it,” he began again, his voice heavy with sorrow and exhaustion. “When it fell, it transformed before my eyes. There she lay—your wife,” he gestured toward Branyoa. “There, she became… unbelievably altered. I wished it were not true, but that’s what happened.”

As he spoke, tensions surged like a tempestuous sea; anger consumed the Baker once more. He lunged at the Ranger, fists flying in blind rage. The group erupted into chaos as they rushed to separate them, voices rising in alarm.

“You lying scum!” The Baker’s fury was palpable, each word dripping with venomous intent while his eyes welled with sorrowful tears. “You killed her! I will see you dead for this!”

The company moved to break them up and hold them back, and Mareg stepped between them with authority. “Enough!” he declared, his voice slicing through the turmoil like a sword through flesh. Mareg turned toward the Ranger who was calm and showing a sign of peace, then turned sharply on Branyoa, who was still working up. Mareg addressed him, “We know as much about where she has been lately as we do about where our Ranger has been.” Mareg’s words were heavy with implication—a pointed reminder that secrets lay buried beneath their own lives.

The Baker’s face, flushed crimson, calmed a bit at Mareg’s insinuation, and was momentarily silenced by its weight. The maelstrom of emotions that swept through the clearing began to settle as Mareg's words echoed into the quietude. The somber tableau of the mid-morning sun and the golden corn was shattered by human lament, an age-old discord between belief and proof now stirred to life.

The Ranger, shaking off the tension, felt the quiet desperation of the townsfolk. Beneath Mareg’s diplomacy was hinted at a troubled truth—deciphering the unknown was their shared burden; it meant peeling back layers of their own unfaced fears.

Edrel's voice cut through the chopping silence, hard and articulate, echoing chiseled skepticism. "We should not forget how often the tales of this land twist us into folly. Shadows can be longer than we'll allow." His statement hung in the air, weaving into the rustle of the corn stalks, awakening an unspoken curiosity.

He approached the Ranger with deliberate steps, eyes hard like polished obsidian. "What shines brightly are the questions we dare not pose, saving sunlight for tired eyes.” The Ranger was silent, trying to understand where the directed wordcraft was heading. Edrel continued, “Was the beast her? Or was it that you know? You fought it. But when?"

The accusation wrapped in inquiry tightened the circle around the Ranger; Mareg, sensing the friction nearing its apex, interjected with calm assertion. "We have stood here for long, eyes cast where we find only death and memory. We must breach this narrow scope," he advised, eyeing Tzena, silently urging her to voice what others suppressed.

Exhaling the burden she held, Tzena acquiesced. "If these past few nights meant anything," she said, drawing cautious eye contact from Mareg and Edrel, "it showed us that together we're drawn to these shadows emerging to mock our certainty. We must see it for ourselves. The maze speaks through its secrets."

A palpable unease rippled while confounding the visible winds, pushing their temporal duty forward, onwards into the dying maze's loop—a plan had gathered amid their own fragmented understanding.

“It is clear, at least to the present evidence, that we can agree at least on some facts,” Mareg stated. “Do we agree that Felna was killed before the coming of the Ranger?” 

All nodded, save the Ranger and Branyoa. Disregarding the Ranger, as the questioning did not involve him, Mareg looked at Branyoa, who stared at him, but did not answer nor nod. Mareg continued, “It is also evident that the Ranger entered the clearing with intentions to recover the body of Felna.” All nodded again. “At least, we can agree that the Branyoa’s wife was in the clearing with the dead child?”

This one took a moment. Tzena nodded first, almost before the question was finished. Selme soon followed, The Baker began to scowl in anger and sorrow. Edrel took a deep breath, then sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Branyoa,” he said. “I don’t believe the Ranger’s tale of a ‘Beast’. But I cannot explain why your wife was here and Felna was dead. That does not quite make sense to me.”

Branyoa turned away as he began to cry. The Ranger sighed, compassion claiming reign over the clamor of his emotions.

Mareg spoke, “It seems to me evident that the Ranger was the cause of Branyoa’s wife’s death.” That should have filled the Ranger with grief and fear, but watching Branyoa weep in the presence of his deceased wife, by his own hands, stayed his compassion, and he nodded in agreement. The others did as well. “The circumstances of such a situation are still not agreed by us here. However, I will make the statement that it seems the Ranger did not do so out of ill will.”

Edrel disagreed, “That we cannot say with certainty. He could have seen her with Felna’s body, and out of anger, out of passion, he slayed her.”

“I did what I had to... protect myself." The Ranger stated in response, An outburst followed by words chosen with care.

Mareg's gaze was intent, anchoring the group with a steady demeanor. "Branyoa," he addressed softly, "there are things we don't understand here. We do not place blame as it won't unravel the mystery. However, what is clear is clear, and what is unclear we need to look into further. We need your insight, anything you might know about why she might have been here..."

Branyoa hesitated, his anger stretching and threading around his confusion, like tendrils of smoke latching into an unfamiliar room. "I… I don’t know why she was here..." His voice broke then, trailing off into pained reminiscence.

Mareg took a step closer, firmly yet gently steering the dialog. "What you know… it may hold a key to all of this." He received no response.

The awkward silence dared to envelop them again, tenuous peace before the implosive swell of unsaid questions. The wind sifted through the corn stalks like a hushed lullaby, adding a layer of chill to the morning air. Each member of the gathered felt it: the balancing of violence, revelation, and their tethered destinies.

Mareg relented, taking action and providing the group with the reprieve they unspokenly desired. “We will carry her back to town,” he announced resolutely. “However, this cannot end here. We need some rest and clarity; we will uncover what happened and how we can protect our community.”

Edrel moved to help with the body, along with one of the elders. Branyoa protested, and instead picked up his wife’s remains. As he stood, he looked around, then moved through the maze. The others began to follow. 

“Do not!” Mareg spoke, stopping them. “Do not speak of this until we have found our resolution.” There was no nod. All had already assumed as much and carried on again. The Ranger’s compassion shifted as he felt an oppressive weight settle upon him—the burden of an outcast now entwined with loss and sorrow for both Felna and the baker’s wife. Grief intertwined with resolve as they moved toward town, shadows trailing behind like specters of their past choices and unspoken truths.

***

The sun, having fully risen, cast its golden rays across the quaint town square, illuminating the cobblestones and erasing the dew of a mournful night. The light seemed almost cruel, a stark contrast to the heavy pall of dolor that hung in the air. Inside the Baker’s home, a once-cozy sanctuary now felt like a mausoleum, filled with echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence.

The Baker was in his kitchen, staring vacantly at a loaf of bread he had just pulled from the oven. The warm scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, a bittersweet reminder of normalcy now irrevocably shattered. His hands trembled as he gripped the loaf tightly, knuckles whitening under the strain.

Tzena entered quietly, her presence like a gentle breeze in a storm. She observed him with an understanding gaze that seemed to penetrate the veil of his despair. The Baker turned to face her, anguish etched across his features like lines on an ancient map.

Tzena gently stepped closer, “I know you’re hurting… “.

From behind her as she spoke, the Ranger approached the door cautiously, acutely aware of the tension still simmering within these walls. He hesitated before entering.

Branyoa met him with a gaze of hostility and surprise. The Baker's eyes narrowed upon recognizing him; tension thickened in the air like smoke curling from an extinguished flame. “What do you want?” he spat venomously. “To gloat over your perceived innocence?”

The Ranger stood stoic, waiting for the formality of an invite. The Baker continued, “You’ve taken everything from me!” His accusation was sharp and filled with raw emotion.

Mareg arrived at the threshold, excusing himself past the Ranger. He stepped between them quickly, raising his hands in an attempt to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. 

“Enough!” Mareg commanded, his voice resonating with urgency. “This is not why we are here.” He turned to face the Baker directly, his expression earnest yet firm. “We come with peace and compassion, but also with a need for clarity.”

The Baker temporarily relented, relaxing into his chair and staring at pieces of bread he rolled into a ball with his fingers. Mareg continued, “There are circumstances that we wish to answer for. We would like to know why your wife would have been in the clearing with the child.”

There was silence as the Baker continued to roll more tiny balls of bread. Mareg pressed gently, “Tell us what you know about your wife.”

Branyoa hesitated for a moment, torn between grief and anger as Mareg's words sank in like lead weights in water. He shifted uncomfortably under Mareg's gaze but ultimately nodded slowly. “We... we had our troubles,” he finally admitted, his voice faltering slightly. “She would leave at night sometimes... I thought she was just stressed from baking or... or something else.” The admission hung heavily in the air between them.

Mareg looked at Tzena, then at the Ranger. He signaled for the Ranger to enter and close the door. Mareg leaned closer, sensing an opportunity for deeper understanding. “Those late nights—did she ever mention anything strange? Any desires? Anything of the children? Anything… unusual?” His inquiry hung in the air.

The Baker looked down at his hands as if seeking answers from their calloused palms; memories flickered through his mind like shadows dancing on walls—fleeting yet hauntingly familiar.

“There was... a fight,” he began hesitantly, voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to speak it aloud. “We argued one night—about everything and nothing at all.” His brow furrowed as doubt crept into his heart. “She left... I thought she was seeing someone else.”

He paused again before continuing with trepidation: “But when she returned home... there was something different about her—a new belt around her waist.” The revelation hung heavily in the air; it felt both trivial and profound. The Baker looked up at it, as it hung on the wall next to the mantle of the fireplace.

Mareg exchanged glances with the Ranger; there was something unsettling about this detail—a clue buried beneath layers of grief and denial that could lead them toward understanding.

“A belt?” Tzena asked. “Where did she get it from?”

The Baker shrugged. His eyes were beginning to tear up, so he turned himself away. “I don’t know. She never spoke much about it after that night, and I didn’t ask because I was too afraid of the answer.”

“That she was with someone else?” Mareg asked.

The Baker’s tears began to show now; there was no turning his face away to hide it. But his composure remained. “I saw them. During one of her evening walks. I followed her into the woods across near Daafahl’s.”

“The old hollow?” asked Tzena.

“She would go on walks way over there?” Mareg asked. The Baker nodded. “That’s pretty far. Who lives out there?”

“No one that I know. But I didn’t recognize this person.. when she met with him they hugged. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to rush over there and just strangle him. But I didn’t know what he knew, or who was there, and it was far enough already.”

The three guests waited, not sure how to respond. The Baker continued. “I came home, trashed the house, and got ready to tell her everything.”

The quiet interior of the Baker's home held its breath, the air baked with unspoken emotion and revelations dancing in the muted sunlight streaming through the window. The tranquility that settled was tentative, fragile as the Baker's own grasp on his tale of betrayal and hidden fears.

As the Branyoa composed himself, resisting the encroaching flood of pain, Tzena leaned slightly forward, her face a mask of quiet empathy. "And when she returned?" she prompted gently, offering a lifeline toward the conclusion that tolled with the weight of grim portent.

The Baker's voice trembled, a reflection perhaps of the inner gulf at the truth he danced around. "When she came back, She wasn’t herself. She was scared. There was guilt in her eyes, mingled with something else... something darker I couldn't understand." He hesitated, then continued as if revealing a cherished secret. "At first, I just thought she knew that I knew."

Intrigue knit Mareg's and Tzena's expressions deeper, the Ranger maintaining a silent guard by the door like a sentinel sworn to truth. Mareg ventured, "Did she offer no words of explanation upon meeting your eyes at your rage, your sorrow?"

The Baker shook his head slowly, melancholy draping his features like a shroud. "She spoke right away of nightmares... voices in the woods. Of haunting paths and... glimpses of faces she'd never seen before." 

A somber breath drew from his chest. Silence settled once more, the tales of ancient woods threading through the villagers' collective consciousness—the dread tie linking Babe and lover to unfurl within remembered paths. Mareg nodded solemnly, the puzzle pieces inside his mind beginning to form dim shapes.

Mareg spoke, facing the Baker, but clearly to Tzena and the Ranger. “Daafahl’s! That’s a long way.”

The Ranger was not sure of Mareg’s meaning, but Tzena seemed to understand, as she spoke, “We can go there. It’s not too far.”

Mareg shook his head. “No. We can’t. If we go out there, it’ll be late afternoon, then we only have a limited time until dark… no. We will wait to investigate further.”

To Mareg and Tzena’s surprise, the Baker spoke, “What? You won’t go?”

Mareg sighed and started to speak, but Branyoa interrupted. “You frolocked with him,” the Baker pointed at the Ranger. “...into the clearing to investigate. Now, you just don’t want to go.”

Mareg pleaded, “This is beginning to escalate. I can’t just carry on this investigation alone. I don’t have the resources.”

The Baker stood as the anger returned to him. Mareg continued from his chair, “I’ve notified the Elvish temple. They will be here soon and they can take over; they have what I don’t to find out about the other person.”

The Baker turned to Mareg, “Elves! Damn! You’re going to leave her up to the elves? This is my wife!”

“And it’s my call,” Mareg stated. “I will not risk anymore without support.” Mareg allowed for a pause. He got up and placed a hand on the Baker. “Let’s bury your wife, pay her respects, and then when they get here, we can figure this out.”

Branyoa looked at Mareg, then at the Ranger. “You were quick to help get the child out of the maze, and to go with Mareg to show us the clearing…” the Baker’s face was angry, but the Ranger saw in his eyes a plea. 

The Ranger stood from his relaxed, leaning position and straightened out his tunic, not sure what to answer. “I don’t want to interfere where I am not invited. Mareg wants to wait until he has help. That might not be a bad idea.”

The Baker shook his head. “Of course,” he said. He then began to grab his belt, his knife, his boots. “To hell with you. You know what? Now that you all know this, I’m not holding back. I’m going to go out there. And if I see that bastard, I’m going to get him, and bring him here to tell what happened. Then, I’m going to kill him.”

Mareg sighed, and Tzena slapped her thigh in protest. “Branyoa. No. You are a mess. You just lost your wife. She was accused of involvement with the death of Felna. You wanted to kill him, “ she pointed at the Ranger. “Now you want to go off to Daafahl’s? You’re all over the place.”

“No,” Mareg contributed. “You can’t go. I won’t allow it.”

The Baker looked hard at Mareg. “Stop me!” He dared. Mareg balked, then rubbed his head with uncertainty of what to do next.

The Baker's determined movements were deliberate, filled with a mounting defiance that seemed to pulsate through the room. His hands worked methodically, strapping his belt and securing the knife with an intensity that mirrored his fervor. Tzena and Mareg exchanged concerned glances, their attempts at dissuasion ricocheting off the walls like swallowed echoes.

Mareg, driven by a sense of duty and skepticism, opened his mouth to protest further, but the words faltered on his tongue. This situation was dissolving into something volatile, something that required more than his authority as a town leader—something that maybe required understanding.

Caught in his own reflections, the Ranger's thoughts swirled amidst the quiet tumult of emotion and irradiated light flooding the room. There was an echo—a nameless pull like a specter cloaked in unseen familiarity beckoning him toward a path less tread. It tugged at him from beyond, inherent in the whispers of golden corn stalks and shadows of the wooded lands.

The elemental pull filled his veins with a chill, compelling his mind beyond present turmoil, cresting over moraines of rational resolve into terrain deeper, more arcane. It was then, steady and mildly hypnotic as the edge of moon's halo, that the Ranger yielded.

He spoke, his words like a calm yet resonant beacon breaking their exchanges. "I'll join him," the Ranger stated with conviction, surprise weaving through both his comrades and the Baker, staying each present intent in place—halting them in semi disbelief.

Mareg’s brow furrowed in abrupt bewilderment, his contingent reaction meshed between confusion and denial. "What makes you think it wise?" he protested, his gaze piercing the Ranger's steady calm. "We're awaiting Elvish support."

The Ranger met Mareg's eyes with resolute empathy, as though nurturing understanding despite contrary motions within the heart. "And yet moments draw destiny closer than we imagine. Should it come, my presence is deemed needful."

Tzena absorbed the exchange with an attentive acuity and witnessed the resolve within the room shift like tectonic plates. There was something genuine in this endeavor—truth reached beyond reticence. Her familiar curiosity inclined her trust reluctantly to unfold deeper commitment. "I’ll join the Ranger and Branyoa," she affirmed softly but assertively.

Mareg sighed deeply, frustration interwoven with a begrudging respect. The spirited convictions, though intuitively reckless, arched beneath latitude toward budding purpose—rooms sensed what words still stumbled to construe, and Mareg, more becalmed than before, quietly accepted the intangible wager of partnership in rising endeavor.

Seeing their determination unfurl in unity, he released a pent-up breath, conceding beneath the watchful specter of their insatiable decision. "Well, if this is how it's going to be," Mareg declared wearily yet resignedly, qualities of leadership stepping through his resourceful agility, "Then I'd best ensure you're not entirely all bound for danger untended. I’ll gather my gear and fetch a couple of guards to join us."

As Mareg departed to assemble their party, a symbiotic tension infused through the remaining faces between breaths while the Ranger and Tzena, affirmed within decision, moved inward—the gravitational weight of mystery beyond over extinguished settlement drew patience and purpose among the assembly.

Tzena gestured to the Ranger. “Come. Let’s meet with Mareg,” she said. The Ranger nodded in agreement and the Baker watched as Tzena held the door open for the Ranger, and they both exited his abode. He looked around one last time for anything he needed, then at the belt hanging by the mantle. He moved toward it as if he was going to grab it, but after a moment, he stopped himself and left his home.

***

Branyoa, the Baker, fell into pace alongside Tzena and the Ranger, then found his place between Tzena and Mareg, who led with the two soldiers in an unwritten pact of trust and mission. The air was thick with an undercurrent of expectation, vibrant with the sounds of life and the static of the unknown beckoning just beyond their vision.

Tzena, imbued with new clarity upon leaving the settled realm of possession, let herself sink more deeply into the rigors of focus as they traveled along the path to the edges of town. Her footfalls nimble, each step methodically laid as if getting closer to peeling back the veil atop an undiscovered and mysterious truth that lay like checked shadows far ahead.

She seemed to the Ranger to walk with purpose, a figure defined by inner strength and character that rivaled many men. The Ranger noted her as a person of decisive action, unlikely to flinch in adversarial circumstances despite her unsuitedness for immediate combat. Tzena's should-have-been moments at her inn breaking down brawls crafted an aura of authority.

The cobbled path gave way to the wild, as only a graveled and dirt path with the remains of the cobbled stones as evidence of a road long ago laid. The Ranger, with instinct amplified amidst these revered territories, caught the growing pulse of the untamed land they encroached upon already attending his roots. The Ranger oriented his senses—keen and expansive, noting each subtlety in movements where others saw only impenetrable calm.

Ahead, Mareg carried himself with the demeanor of potential past service, yet little in his poised posture hinted toward any countenance for combat; everything about him suggested strategic predilection over brute force. Through the recent affair's ilheus, the Ranger wandered over Mareg's experiential cachet in leading through chaotic unravelings.

The two soldiers, close upon Mareg, practiced an innate vigor which denoted combat readiness—stoic expressions carved through mental soldiers of tempered experience—fluidity about them sprinkled gravitas upon every step. Here were seasoned residents who embodied the townsfolk’s reliance well, the very semblance of discipline and efficiency marked by their composure.

Sweeping pine hosts swayed above, offering testament to secrets spun centuries past, a rolling voice that beckoned or warded with indifferent certainty. While their path embodied visible footfalls, it pressed each traveler toward marks in the brush, feathered fragments humming the mingled symphony of presence.

As they navigated the crepuscular shallows of trees, the unwavering light above seemed to dim in reverence behind afternoon clouds, framing their journey’s course with solemn promise. Behind them, the village dwindled, and before them, all tapestry colors wove trembling under unity's reclaimed canvas.

Branyoa, the Baker, walked between Mareg and Tzena. The man was a cauldron of pent-up emotions simmering dangerously at the threshold of reason. Though the Ranger suspected this man's tempestuous nature accelerated tensions in prior domestic disputes, he recognized a powerful build that spoke louder than framed discourse; every added friction was a ripple which widened into vulnerability in dire contexts. Alas, the burly baker would fair cunningly thereafter the guards flanking Mareg.

Gathering just outside a farmer’s stone barrier for his crops to the wild, the group took a moment to rest, drink, and prepare themselves for the next part. There were pines and oaks in their view, save for one tree, which leaned peculiarly over, as if weeping. The air seemed rife with ancestral resonance, lulled into murmurs echoing between the mighty branches. Mareg turned to the Ranger, sensing the opportune moment amidst their awaiting quest to share insight reaching back into antiquity's fold. “Daafahl’s. You know it?”

The Ranger shook his head after he took a swig of his skin. Mareg nodded, lightly tracing fingertips over the tree's textured bark as though brushing history from the woven fibers. "Local legend holds that Daafahl's is more than a mere tree," he began, voice resonating with the forest's breaths. "It's said to be the 'Tear's Tree'—a conduit between this world and another, gathering the sorrow and joy of ages into its being. Its roots delve beyond the tangible earth into spaces where spirits and stories commune, joining lives lost with those yet lived."

As the Ranger listened, he allowed the words to settle gently, mingling with the vigilance fostered upon the path.

"People come seeking wisdom or salve for ills that rest beyond human touch," Mareg continued. "In winter, the droplets it sheds are believed to be tears of spirits, offering clarity to seekers who dare ask the unwelcome questions of fate. They say its sentinel form captures moments, transforming time into different realms through the wisdom of its silhouetted dance." The grove around them held a stillness, shadows curling like the slumber of ancient breaths.

"But, as legend persists," Mareg added, his pragmatic tone suturing myth with reality, "there are those who declare it simply an old tree, bathed in stories and nothing more. Just tales for the moonlit nights, nothing but carving whispers of roots against loam."

The Ranger took in the monolithic presence of Daafahl's, speaking its silent language to bystanding witnesses. The forest hushed around them, as if allowing the space for contemplation where doubts met infinite potential—the heart forged anew at nature’s ears. Yet, undeterred by lore told or the reality revealed, they stood ready to draw upon the storied sentinel for the very clarity that day’s consequence might compel.

Mareg seemed to snap to, his posture resolute as he turned to face the Ranger. “We cannot linger here any longer,” he declared, urgency threading through his voice. “We must do what we can before dusk.”

The Ranger nodded in agreement, and Tzena beckoned, “Lead the way, Mareg.” As they stepped into the shadowy embrace of the forest, the Ranger lingered for a moment before following them. The air grew cooler as they ventured deeper among trees. Sunlight dappled the ground between the branches, creating an intricate mosaic of light and shadow.

Mareg led them along a narrow path flanked by thick underbrush. The silence was palpable; only the occasional rustle of leaves broke through the stillness, each sound amplifying their unease. Suddenly, Mareg halted and raised a hand to signal for silence. He pointed ahead where something caught his eye.

“What is it?” the Ranger whispered, stepping closer.

In a small clearing littered with fallen leaves and twigs lay an array of feathers scattered across the ground—dark raven feathers glinting in the sunlight like shards of night itself. Amidst this collection were several strikingly white feathers that stood out against their dark counterparts.

“What is this?” Mareg muttered under his breath as he knelt down to examine them more closely. “Black feathers... Raven feathers...” His voice trailed off into an uneasy silence before continuing with a hint of suspicion lacing his words. “Could it be that she dabbled in black rituals? Perhaps she was trying to commune with forces beyond our understanding?”

The Baker's eyes widened at this suggestion; he felt a mix of disbelief and fear coursing through him. “My wife? A witch? No! She was just… No!”

“But what if there’s truth to it?” Mareg pressed gently but firmly. “This does not look good. This looks dark.”

As Mareg examined the black feathers closely, the Ranger squatted down as well to inspect the white feathers that glimmered like stars against a night sky. “What about these?” he mused aloud, picking up one of the white feathers delicately between his fingers. A thought flickered through his mind like lightning illuminating dark clouds. “Those could mean something entirely different.”

Mareg nodded slowly while still inspecting the rest of the site. “It seems we have stumbled upon something far more complex than infidelity or tragedy.”

Tzena and the Ranger collected some of the feathers for further examination. The Ranger was sure to grab at least one of the white feathers among the handful of black feathers.

“Let us continue,” Mareg suggested after a moment’s pause. “There may be more clues waiting for us.”

***

As the group pressed deeper into the heart of the forest, an unsettling feeling crept over them; it was as if unseen eyes watched from the shadows. The woods felt alive yet ominous; every rustle of leaves and distant call of a bird echoed with an unsettling resonance. The air seemed charged with anticipation as the trio delved deeper into the unknown.

Mareg broke the silence. “Do you remember what you said about your wife’s late-night wanderings?”

The Baker was silent for some time. Finally, he answered, “If only I had followed her… just kept going. I may have known… instead of wallowing in my own insecurities!” His voice trembles with frustration and regret.

Mareg replied, “Let’s not dwell on what could have been. We’re here now—and we are together.” He tried to no avail to inject confidence into his words.

As they traversed through thick underbrush and tangled roots, Mareg issued a stopped again, his keen eyes catching a glimpse of something else. He gestured for silence and led them to a small clearing. A mix of fear and curiosity gripped them.

In the clearing lay an array of stones arranged in a circle, remnants of a fire pit at its center. Scattered around were more raven feathers—black and white intermingled—along with symbols etched into the earth.

Mareg knelt to examine the symbols closely, tracing them with his fingers. His brow furrowed as he began to piece together their meaning. A sense of urgency built within them; he realized they had stumbled upon something far more sinister than mere coincidence.

“These markings…” the Ranger began. “They speak of rituals—dark ones. This was a site for summoning, or perhaps binding.” His voice trembled slightly as he contemplated the implications.

Mareg stepped closer, his heart racing as he surveyed the clearing. “This doesn’t help to explain her innocence,” he suggested, his mind racing with possibilities. “If she was caught up in something like this...”

Before they could further discuss their findings, a low growl sounded from behind them—a sound so primal it sent chills racing down their spines. The underbrush rustled violently before parting to reveal a hulking figure emerging from the shadows: a wolf standing solidly on its hind legs, with matted fur and eyes gleaming with feral hunger.

“Back!" shouted one of the guards, axes and shields emerging swifty. Metal sang against leather as they snapped into formation, seasoned instinct directing bodies before conscious intent could guide them. The Baker's hand trembled towards the inadequate promise of his dagger, terror parceling hesitation into every unspent moment.

The wolf, not awaiting thought, surged forward with a guttural roar. It bounded to attack, massive limbs propelling its frame through the gathering dusk—ruthless, bestial grace embodied in motion. With sinews taut and mind sharpened, the Ranger interceded the beast's trajectory, intercepting the advancing surge with the honed edge of his longsword.

Wild anticipation crackled through the monster’s growl, muted quickly by an acute metallic chorus as the Ranger parried with a diagonal high guard, deflecting the beast's mighty swipe. The longsword descended in a weeping arc, singing Mendoubre— where balance straddled power within hilt clasp and a modest power crescent surging upward. His footwork patterned nature's dance, advanced a slide step paired with another repost past the emboldened bulk's lurching maw.

In mirroring tangents, the guards enveloped the beast with shield and ax, executing lithe combinations attuned to teamwork. One guard deftly wielded his elongated saex defensively across snarling jowls while leveraging his ax intentionally to wedge force between advancing claws; shield planes interposed, capturing breathless bark strands and carnal echoes alike.

The wolf’s bloodied fur whipped like rushwind through leaf-blade stretch, anticipating feints but engaging with unpredictable frenzy, flanking them with exceptional prowling instinct. Determined, the second guard executed a prevail move of angehan, where unleashed blade meshed thrust beneath plated brush invading the beasts preciously slow incursion..

Steel’s prayer continued as the Ranger transitioned deftly, allying with implacable encantor forms, binding defense and onslaught diversified. The wolf, a whirling blend of terror and knowledge-lack, sought hold upon groundless surrender—poised for countertempo advance, yet besieged beneath composite measures unwaged through gentleness-eroded sheath. The beast retaliated, gnawing at evanescent guardians amid interacting enclaves.

Finally, the Ranger surged forward. A final coordinated maneuverment amongst each acknowledged node assigned sole intentions—they decimated as his thrust coursed through thick hide defenses and yielded a perfected stroke.

The beast faltered, a pained howl erupting a lament saturating airy filled page whilst pooling blood dyed somber woodland floor. Among ethereal contrails left lingering overhead, silence burgeoned anew; evoking spirits' immaterial breath-need through the victorious repose.

One guard stared at the beast while leaning on his knees and catching his breath. The other approach with his shield and ax at the ready. The Ranger, likewise catching his breath, stood over the fallen creature—the air feeling different now—charged with victory yet tinged with sorrow for what had transpired.

Mareg was at the aid of the Baker, and the two were in discussion, partially asking if they were okay, and partially reliving the events that just took place. The Ranger continued to stare intently at the beast as it writhed on the ground; an unsettlingly familiar motion he longed never to see again as well as expected in the coming moments.

“Mareg!” he shouted suddenly, drawing their attention back to what was unfolding before them. The wolf began to shift—fur receding like mist dispersing into the dusk sunlight—until finally revealing not a beast but a man beneath its monstrous guise. He lay there naked on the forest floor except for one item: a leather belt wrapped tightly around his waist.

The sight struck them all into silence; shock rippled through their ranks as they processed what had just occurred—a living testament to dark magic or perhaps tragic fate woven into their lives. Mareg stepped forward cautiously, heart pounding in disbelief at this new revelation while glancing back at his companions. “What have we stumbled upon?” he murmured, glancing back at the Ranger and the Baker. “This man was once a beast.”

The Baker's face twisted in confusion and anger as he took a step closer to the fallen figure, who whimpered and struggled with his breath. “You!” Branyoa spat, pointing a trembling finger at the unconscious man. “What did you do to her? What dark pact did you share?” His voice trembled with a mix of grief and accusation, each word laced with pain.

The Ranger placed a steadying hand on the Baker’s shoulder, sensing his fury boiling just beneath the surface. “Let’s be calm,” he cautioned, his voice low and firm. “We need answers, and he doesn't have long left.”

The Baker scoffed bitterly, but stepped back to allow the Ranger to take control of the situation. As if summoned by their words, the man began to stir, groaning softly as consciousness returned to him. “Where... ” he croaked, voice hoarse and trembling. 

Mareg raised his sword defensively. The Ranger put a passive hand up to Mareg and looked at him solemnly, then knelt beside the dying man. “What happened to you? How did you become the beast?”

The man answered in vain with labored groans. Mareg and the Baker stared intently, waiting for something tangible. With no real response, the Ranger repeated the question. Finally, amidst the pain and struggle, the man was able to mutter, “Raven. Raven.”

“Raven?” The Baker's voice was incredulous as he stepped forward again, anger flaring anew. “You turned my wife into a monster! What does that have to do with the Raven?”

The Ranger asked, “What about the Raven? What happened to the female?”

More struggle and burdened breathing came before the man muttered, “It… Rave… curs… bel”.

The Ranger looked at Mareg, then at the Baker. The Baker stood frozen for a moment before stepping back slightly as realization washed over him—a painful acknowledgment that his wife  had been seeking this. The man struggled a few times with his breath, then finally lay still. All three men were silent. The wind accompanied them and rustled the leaves and the Chill air sobered them.

The Baker finally spoke. “I thought she was just stressed... or unfaithful… I never imagined...” His voice trailed off into silence. Mareg looked between them—two men caught in a web of grief and misunderstanding—and felt an overwhelming urge to bridge their divide. 

Tzena came in and asked, “Raven? I don't know if I understand. Did he, or your wife, or the Raven kill the children?”.

The Baker had at this point broken down into a full sob, not answering the question. The Ranger responded instead, “The wounds I saw on the child were from an animal.” He looked at the Baker. “I guess I just assumed since your wife was there in beast form, she had hurt them.”

Mareg was still, quiet, and was clearly thinking. The Ranger watched the elder as something had begun to formulate. Mareg put his hands out in a strange gesture, then spoke very gently,  “There is some reason to be skeptical that your wife was the killer of the children.” 

It seemed that the statement was directed at the Baker, but it seemed to hover amongst everyone. The Ranger nodded slowly, half wondering if Mareg was just saying that to help the Bakers emotional state, or if that was the conclusion he was actually drawing. 

The clearing now held its breath, the tragic stillness unchallenged as the full weight of the revelations sank deep into the ground around them. The once formidable threat lay exposed—not as a man nor a beast, but a mosaic of shattered truths and whispered indictments penned by shadows.

Mareg approached the inert figure hesitantly, grappling with the magnitude of what they'd unearthed—a crossroads in understanding marked by sorrow, misunderstanding, and overwhelming burden. He recast his attention on the Ranger, the rigorous but genuine inquiry slipping between them. "Could it be that they were both ensnared by a curse?" Mareg speculated with a tone both inquisitive and laden.

The Ranger only managed a slow nod initially, mentally mapping the cryptic fragments held within the dying man’s final mutterings. His mind juxtaposed elements of their prior anxieties against freshly gleaned tokens; depths never conceived opened themselves reluctantly before their resolute vigil—thought shifted, whispered prompting of intuitions assembled raw reality empowered the range of conscious acceptance.

Branyoa choked back a fresh wave of grief, his limbs weary and spent beneath the continuation of each heaving realization. The gaze he cast upon Mareg and the Ranger was empty yet markedly human—struck by this reveal, its allegiance now fully tested. "This wretched curse," he uttered tentatively, the shadows of recognition sewn with threads of sorrow, "Was it the cause, then? Has it driven them both to... this?"

Tzena, stepping beside Branyoa, offered a presence both calming and immense. Strength mended the tear spread across the party, binding bonds expanding despite baked intentions gone awry. She placed a hand on the Baker’s shoulder with firm solidarity. "We don’t know exactly," she said softly, firmly, "But the truth lies within what we’ve uncovered together—in this place."

As their dialogue faded, the palpable silence swallowed static moments, punctuated by the resonance of winds wafting upon leaves. The treetops gently swayed, offering serene rapport to the cacophony housed within mortal hearts—a promise folding between abstraction and certainty.

After a restive pause, Mareg addressed the group anew, conviction shading his voice. "Regardless of the circumstances we find, goodness tells no soul to lay fault. Here, evidence shines upon solutions—should they illustrate misdeed, they echo truth wider than culpable curses alone." He paused. “The lives lost indiscriminately, including those young children’s lives... well, they’ll be seen to—however glimmers may unfold across this murk.”

To the guards, Mareg commanded, “Grab the belt off of that man. Let’s mark the trees on our way back. We shall bring the elves here when they come looking.”

He walked over to Branyoa and held his shoulder. “Come. We have some answers. Let’s tend to your wife, and put her to the rest she deserves after such unsettling happenstances.”

The Ranger sensed a kindling of acceptance within the baker’s heart—an acknowledgment not of simple conclusions but of unrestrained validation escaped. The beast had not taken their justice from them but relinquished valediction discussed. Branyoa stood and steadied himself, taking in a deep draw and staring at the clouds amidst the setting sun.

The guard that had relieved the man of his belt offered it to Mareg, who gestured to him to keep it in his possession. The company looked around and looked at one another as a final confirmation of their departure, and following Mareg as they had done before, they allowed him to lead again, this time to town.

***

The solitude of dawn settled over the Ranger’s wares as he had them sprawled out in preparation to return to his home. Dew hung in heavy droplets upon his travel-worn cloak where it lay draped across a nearby stump. The air was still, interrupted only by the soft rustling of a forest stirring to life and the quiet discipline of the Ranger’s preparations.

Elongated shadows played across the ground as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the trees. The Ranger moved with practiced efficiency, his hands skilled and precise as they gathered his effects. Steel gleamed softly as the sun's embrace flirted with his blade, contrasting against the coarse fabric of his travel pack. He was nearly complete, when he saw from afar Mareg make his approach.

Just as he was easing the strap of his pack over his shoulder, Mareg came with a smile on his face. "It's always in the leaving that doubts stir their thick smoke," Mareg remarked, his voice carrying a comforting timbre, though laced with the weariness only felt by those who had witnessed what ought never to transpire.

The Ranger glanced up from his task, nodding in solidarity with the shared acknowledgment of the town's uneasy tranquility. "After everything that has happened, the farewell weighs heavier than my pack," he replied, adjusting his cloak and letting Mareg's words resonate within the silence lingering between them.

"The town will need time to heal," he said with thoughtful reflection, eyes settling knowingly on the Ranger. "And so will you."

The Ranger paused, meeting Mareg's gaze. There was wisdom to be savored in those words—a truth anointed in humbled understanding the value of right moments, parsed in equal measure. Together they began to walk toward the edge of town where they had first entered—where guards had eyed the Ranger with suspicion and uncertainty. The air felt different now; it was charged with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

As they reached the outskirts, Mareg glanced back at the town square one last time. “It’s an uneasy goodbye,” he remarked quietly.

“Indeed,” replied the Ranger, his gaze lingering on familiar sights—the market stalls filled with goods and laughter now shadowed by grief. The road underfoot gave subtle testimony to the journey behind and the path yet stretching ahead as the Ranger moved forward. His belongings, meticulously packed, lay gently upon his back, the rhythmic comfort of travel a familiar hymn to which his very steps sang. The weight of his duties had shifted, lightened in part but sharpened by reflections on morality and judgment—the lingering nuance from unraveling truths.

Mareg took out of a satchel he had a parting gift—the belt that belonged to the beast. Mareg extended it out to the Ranger, who only looked at it. “You don’t want to keep that?” he asked.

Mareg shook his head. “The elves are here. They arrived last night.” The Ranger took a moment before he reached out and took it with thanks.

“You don’t need me to stay to speak to them?” The Ranger asked, but he started to understand the line of thinking Mareg was drawing.

“I don’t,” Mareg replied with a chuckle. “As far as the town is concerned, the beast has been dealt with. As far as the Baker is concerned, his wife is innocent. And as far as the elves are concerned, there was only one killer.” 

A thread tugged at the weave of contemplation, wrapping itself around unyielding principles anchored against intuition’s untamed currents. The decision to carry one burden away, leaving another behind to remain ensconced in storied lore, stewed quietly; it was a pact equal parts shrouded in necessity and hidden from the expectations of a further dawn.

The Ranger smiled wryly, then said, “Alright. I’ll be off.”

Mareg returned the smile. "This town shall see brighter days woven within time’s quilt, its pattern aided by the breadth of space and kindly fortune you left distinctly imprint." Mareg gave one last smile then simply said, “Farewell.” There was no handshake or gesture. Mareg simply said it, turned, and walked back to the town.

As the path wound further into the arms of the surrounding forest, the air shifted slightly—contrasting scents suffused with warming pine entwined quiet conclusions. The Ranger traversed familiar loneliness cloaked within self-determined authority—existence reveled in unfolding without detracting features unconcealed.

A sudden, unexpected caw pierced the woodland hush—a sound sharply outlined through dawn-tressed tendrils diffused. The Ranger paused, gaze ascending to find a spectral witness perched amongst its verdant throne—a solitary crow, feathers glistening lit by sun-laden light.

For a heartbeat, longer than should measure transient but lingered nevertheless, his gaze met the crow's beady stare—a silent valuation performed across the void unmeasurable and unyielding. They assessed each other beyond terrestrial bounds, beholden in an earthly draw.

Despite the avian's presence or perhaps because of an embraced echo, the Ranger willed solid certainty upon his departure—resuming his stride steady. The crow cawed once more, gathering lineage newly found overhead; its wings grasped the sky with primitive elegance—ascension into the dense embrace carried by its measure where spirits whispered willingly. In its wake, the Ranger found familiarity threaded fresh upon his course—the visitor’s presence echoing resolve in newbound pureness.