Ivan stood out on the road in front of the tavern, a hand pressed to his bandaged and aching head as he oversaw the guardsmen loading the bodies of their fallen comrades onto an ox-cart. It was a bloody and unpleasant business, made even more so by concerns over the potential threat posed by the still-agitated villagers.

Sykes, in as black a mood as anyone had ever seen, had started the long trek back to Aquila in order to give his report to the Bishop. Marcus, at the Captain's orders, had taken the mere handful of men left capable of riding and fighting and set off in pursuit of Donovan and the mysterious Navarre.

Ivan had been left in charge of the wounded and the dead, which he knew was not meant to be a complement to his perceived leadership skills.

He shouted to the driver, letting him know that the last body had finally been loaded - the driver cracked his whip and set the cart lumbering down the long road to Aquila. Watching the cart move down the street, Ivan noticed an unexpected figure moving in his direction.

The stranger was a fat, wheezing old man in the plain brown robes of a monk. He stopped to mutter a prayer as the cart rolled by him, then continued resolutely down the muddy street despite having clearly already overexerted himself. Ivan, figuring the man was harmless enough, just turned away and went off in search of his horse - he'd seen too much death and blood today to want anything to do with a holy man offering prayers for the dead.

The road was empty by the time the monk reached Ivan's previous spot, but the man stopped there anyway, wiping at his sweaty brow and gazing sadly at the ruined tavern courtyard. For a moment, guilt flared in his brown eyes, as if he were somehow to blame for the destruction and loss of life.

Shaking a head full of salt and pepper hair, he slipped a water skin from his shoulder and drank until he'd emptied it. Then he started toward the tavern itself, walking with the slow, heavy gait of a man who has walked too far carrying too large and heavy a burden.

The innkeeper who owned the tavern was currently on hands and knees in the courtyard, seeing what could be salvaged from the broken debris littering his place of business - there did not seem to be much reward for his efforts. The last bit of his patience fled as he heard dishes clanking behind him, and he started yelling as he turned to the source of the noise. "Get out of here, you damned vultures!"

Too late, he realized that he was addressing not a guard or a looter but a holy man of some sort, who looked to be very much in need of the large drink he'd poured himself. The innkeeper's face reddened with embarrassment as he apologized. "I'm sorry, Father. You wouldn't believe the kind of behavior this sort of mess brings on."

The monk seemed completely unruffled, even managing a tight smile. "It's Rabbi, my son, not Father, but the apology still stands well enough. Rumor has it a man named Charles de Navarre is responsible for all of this."

The innkeeper made a face, marveling at how quickly bad news traveled. "You could say that. You could also say he had a little help making this mess."

The Rabbi lifted his tankard and finished it off before speaking again, tone deceptively casual. "Did you happen to see what direction Navarre went? It's absolutely crucial that I find him and speak with him."

"I'll tell you what *I* noticed, Rabbi," the innkeeper said, temper flaring. "Swords, arrows, fire, blood, and dead bodies!"

He threw a broken plate against a wall as if to underscore his point, and watched it shatter. The Rabbi nodded slowly in understanding and sympathy before pouring and downing another tankard of ale.

Then he took a small money pouch off his belt and set it before the innkeeper. "It's not much, but it should help you start rebuilding - consider it an apology on behalf of Charles de Navarre and his friends."

The innkeeper hurried to whisk the money pouch out of sight, then suddenly looked trepidatious as the previous comment sank in. "Friends, Rabbi? What should I do if they come here?"

"Tell them I was here and am looking for them, if you'd be so kind," the Rabbi said as he began to walk toward the courtyard gate. "There won't be anything to worry about as long as the Bishop's Guard aren't here lying in wait."

The Rabbi stopped and turned just outside the gate. "Oh - and see if you can't use some of that money to buy some better ale..."

The innkeeper just shook his head and smiled despite himself.

Farther up in the hills, with sunset only a couple hours away, an isolated, rundown farm in one of the forest clearings found itself with a pair of unexpected visitors. The middle-aged couple trying to force a living out of the soil there looked up from their seemingly endless labors at the sound of hoofbeats to see a man and a boy ride into their yard on an enormous black horse.

The wife, busily attempting to sweep a cloud of dust out her front door with a ragged broom, merely stopped and stared before wiping her grimy brow with equally grimy hands. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the two riders - the armed man controlling the well-fed horse looked extremely dangerous, but he definitely did not look poor.

Decision made, she dropped the broom and dashed across the yard, calling shrilly to her husband. That husband was already studying the strangers for himself from where he stood beside the nearby barn, and he'd reached much the same conclusion.

The sickle the man had been sharpening still hung in his grasp, and his hands closed tighter around it as a certain hungry speculative filled his eyes. He absently ran a finger along the curve of the sickle's razor-sharp blade until a small line of blood formed on the fingertip - noting the injury, he put the finger in his mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully.

Claudia surveyed the property as Navarre reined in the horse, and did not like what she saw one bit. This was not the sort of place she'd pictured when Navarre had suggested they stop for the night - not this filthy yard with its rundown barn and tiny cottage with peeling paint and rotting thatch.

Still, any sort of human habitation at all - good, bad, or otherwise - was almost impossible to come by so far up into the hills. Everything Claudia knew about Navarre said that the man was as much a fugitive as she was - and probably for even longer - which meant that they had to take what they could get, at least for now.

Besides, after so many hours spent riding, Claudia would have stayed in the Aquila sewers themselves if it meant she could get off the damned horse.

Navarre made no comment on the farm or its owners, but Claudia eyed their prospective hosts warily as they came forward to greet the unexpected arrivals. She'd seen more than her share of people like these two - prematurely aged, bitter and greedy from a lifetime of hardship.

The man's thin frame was scrawny and bent from too many years of painful, backbreaking labor while on the verge of starving to death. His wife didn't appear to have fared any better - she was equally stooped and twisted, her face lined by her suffering, and her eyes seemed dull and dead. Yes, Claudia had seen many people like this couple - had taken to thieving to avoid becoming one of them.

Suddenly a tad self-conscious, Claudia adjusted her ill-fitting clothes to try and look like something a little better than an underfed thief.

Navarre swung down from the saddle with the ease of someone who'd spent most of their life on horseback. Claudia, not nearly so graceful, barely even managed to land on her feet, and to keep them once on the ground - she hurt in so many places now that the various aches and pains almost seemed to cancel each other out.

"Good afternoon," Navarre began, the soul of courtesy. "I fear I must impose upon you for shelter for the night. For myself, and my... comrade-in-arms."

Claudia beamed and straightened her shoulders just a tad more, tugging again at her too-large clothes, acutely aware of how dirty and unkempt she looked.

Neither the farmer nor his wife even noticed her attempts to neaten up. Their eyes were all for Navarre, as they tried to determine what sort of threat he might be, and how much being hospitable to him would cut into their own meager stores - not once did Claudia seem to factor into their considerations, and she felt oddly stung at being ignored.

"We don't have any food to spare," the farmer said finally. "But you and your boy can spend the night in the barn - for a price."

Claudia, unthinkingly falling into her life-long habit of doing whatever she could to diffuse such a dangerously tense situation, jingled her coin purse and smiled brightly. "That sounds fair. We've got coin - we can pay."

The gesture - meant to reassure the couple that they meant no harm or imposition - did not have anything near the effect Claudia had intended it to. Instead of acknowledging the agreement to their terms and relaxing, the farmer and his wife fixated on the money pouch with an unnerving intensity.

Belatedly, Claudia realized her mistake - an incredibly stupid one, for a thief - and hastened to tuck the money pouch away and out of sight.

Navarre glanced sharply between Claudia and the couple, then moved to block their view of the young thief. They backed away a step as Navarre raised an arm into the air and the hawk settled on his upraised wrist. "I believe providing the evening meal will be sufficient payment for the night's lodging."

With that, Navarre ordered the hawk off to hunt - within the hour, two freshly killed rabbits were roasting over a fire in the yard. It seemed to mollify the farmer and his wife - it would be plenty for all of them, even if they were all ravenous - but Navarre was still cagey enough to avoid entering the cottage, insisting that he preferred to eat outside where he could enjoy the weather. Claudia felt no need to argue - she was all too familiar with the dirt and vermin they would probably find inside.

The farmer and his wife unsuccessfully attempted to appear civil as they waited for the meat to cook, but Claudia didn't really care. She was too distracted - the scent of roasting rabbit was making her dizzy with hunger, and she wasn't sure how she was going to manage to make herself wait until everything had cooked.

Once the food was actually ready, though, it was depressingly easy to control herself. Their theoretical hosts elbowed both herself and Navarre out of the way in their rush for the food - they ate messily and loudly, more like wild animals than human beings.

Seeing that appalling display, Claudia forced herself to show some semblance of calm and composure while consuming her share. It wasn't as difficult as it would have been just a few weeks ago - her poor stomach had shrunken to the point by now that eating slowly was the only way to make sure everything stayed down.

Navarre - despite not having eaten all afternoon, even after his exertions at the tavern - merely picked at his food with disinterest, seeming more concerned with his hawk than what she'd brought him. The bird screeched suddenly, wings flaring restlessly as she stared at the setting sun - Navarre, hearing her, followed her gaze over to the horizon before tossing the bone in his hand to the dog and rising slowly to his feet.

Claudia glanced up as Navarre stood, and from the corner of her eye saw the farmer's bony hand snatch some of the meat off her plate. Turning back to the man, she merely shrugged off his ill manners with a certain casual arrogance. "Go ahead - I'm done. We always eat eat like this."

With the hawk and the dog to hunt for them, Claudia was pretty sure her statement would end up being true, and that added a certain conviction to her words. As if to underscore her lack of concern, she turned to look at Navarre, who was still standing there staring at the horizon.

Navarre's face - sunset and firelight giving it a ruddiness that belied its usual pallor - held the stark resignation of a man facing his own execution. There was also a profound sadness behind those dark eyes, and Claudia didn't know what to do with any of it. If Navarre was aware of her scrutiny, he didn't show it, merely walking past the fire and away from the group, becoming nothing but a black silhouette against the bloody rays of the setting sun.

Claudia, confused and concerned, just stared curiously after Navarre - this caused her to miss the farmer's speculative glance in her direction. They both missed it when the farmer looked back to Navarre, then over at his wife, whose face tensed as her husband gave her a barely perceptible nod.

Navarre, for his part, merely strode over to his horse as if completely alone and began to lead the beast into the barn - the charger protested a little at having its own meal interrupted but went without further complaint. Claudia watched them both as they walked, curiosity piqued when she saw Navarre surreptitiously pick a sunflower from among the weeds by the barn door.

Once he and the horse were safely inside the barn, away from prying eyes, Navarre began his habitual inventory of his saddlebags - they contained precious cargo above and beyond the normal supplies any traveler would need.

The light in the barn was dim, but it was enough to serve Navarre's purpose. Searching the saddlebags, his hands brushed across the smooth softness of cloth and the cold curve of burnished metal with the practiced ease of long familiarity.

Carefully pulling the cloth from the bag, Navarre shook it out and checked it over - it was a woman's gown of the finest light blue silk, painstakingly preserved, and for a moment he even fancied it still carried the scent of its owner.

The burnished metal proved to be a helm identical to the one worn by Walter Sykes - only in black and silver rather than white and gold. Unlike Sykes', however, Navarre's helm still had the faceguard that marked it as belonging to the Captain Of The Guard - a post that Navarre had once rightfully held with dignity and respect.

He stared at the gown and the helm for several long moments, lost in bittersweet memory, before looking up towards the setting sun - he couldn't see it, inside the barn, but after all this time he could certainly feel it.

"One day..." Navarre murmured to himself, but the vow was as much for *her* now as it had ever been for him. After so many sunsets, that promise - to right the terrible wrong done to them both, and to those they loved - was the only thing Navarre had left to carry him through the long dark night that lay ahead of him.

Tonight, though, as darkness approached, he needed more solace than the usual ritual could give him. A careful search through the same saddlebag produced another length of cloth, this one a deep royal blue and carrying another scent entirely. It had only ever been worn the once, but it had been the happiest occasion of the wearer's life...

Claudia, not feeling at all safe alone with the farmer and his wife, rose from her spot by the fire, abandoning whatever was left of the meal to the couple. Hoping that Navarre had had enough time to resolve whatever mood had driven him into the little solitude available, she decided to join him in the barn.

Navarre seemed not to hear her enter the barn, though she would have been unsurprised to learn that he was merely choosing not to acknowledge her presence just yet. He certainly seemed busy enough, searching carefully for something within his saddle bags, or perhaps merely repacking them after checking on their supplies.

When she got to within an arm's length of him with absolutely no response, though, Claudia knew something was not quite right and stopped where she stood. Peering past Navarre in the dim light, she found herself at a bit of a loss to explain what she saw there.

Navarre, hands trembling with suppressed emotion, was holding up a dark blue silk gown, obviously expensive and obviously well cared for. A second gown - cut for a different wearer - lay carefully folded nearby, tucked inside a black and silver version of the helm worn by Walter Sykes. There was also an old faded letter set off to the side - all Claudia could make out was a capital letter 'M'. The rest was too far gone, not that Claudia had ever learned to read more than a tiny portion of the alphabet.

Then Navarre reached up to yank off the black hood that covered his neck and head, releasing a tumble of long ink-colored hair. The hair, the dress, a thousand little things that had gone unnoticed until then, combined with Claudia's reappraisal of the person before her to lead her to one simple yet startling conclusion.

"You're a woman?!" Claudia blurted the words out before she could stop herself, and instantly regretted it.

Navarre, startled from her reverie, turned to face the unknown intruder with a speed no human should be capable of. Claudia was stunned to see tears shining in those dark eyes - right before she saw the mixture of rage, pain, and grief that made her wonder if the woman in front of her was altogether sane.

Claudia fell back a step under that terrifying gaze, chest constricting with the all-too-familiar rush of fear. She opened her mouth to apologize for the intrusion, closed it when no words emerged, then reopened it to try again. "I didn't mean to intrude, my lady. Your... secret is safe with me, I promise."

Navarre blinked slowly, then blinked again, as her face softened back into something more human and far less dangerous. Whatever emotional storm Claudia had stepped into the middle of either passed by or was otherwise contained, seemingly vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

Then, unexpectedly, Navarre began laughing. It was tinged at first with the same edge of lunacy that had haunted her eyes mere moments before, but rapidly settled into a genuine belly laugh that even Claudia had to grin at - it helped reassure the thief a little, but only a little.

Finally, Navarre wiped at her eyes, still smiling. "Forgive me - but you of all people should hardly have cause to be so startled by my ruse. Unless I miss my guess, you've been employing a similar one."

Claudia blinked in surprise as her mouth worked silently for several heartbeats - not even the brutish guards with their heavy fists had managed to see through her disguise. The instinctive denial just would not come, though, and she realized that continuing to deny the truth would only make her look even more foolish than the last few days already had. "How... did you know?"

Navarre chuckled deep and low, with the sort of underlying masculine confidence that had helped carry her lie. "Oh, darling... I daresay that, between my manhandling you onto the horse and the subsequent hours spent clinging to me for dear life as we rode, your deception was rather doomed to fail."

Something in that brazen statement - perhaps the idea that she been pressed that close to the odd woman in front of her, and that woman had actually noticed it enough to later comment on the fact - made Claudia flush clear through to the roots of her hair. After a moment, though, her sense of humor reasserted itself and she began laughing as well - it felt good, actually, after the unrelenting anxiety of the last few days.

Navarre smiled at her, the expression almost conspiratorial given their shared secret, then began carefully repacking the saddlebag. "So... I assume you have a name other than Mouse?"

Claudia smiled back, strangely relieved to not have to pretend any more. "I go by Joshua - it was my brother's name - but my real name is Claudia. Claudia Donovan."

She eyed Navarre for a long moment. "I'm guessing that *your* name isn't Charles..."

Navarre, having made quick but precise work of that saddlebag, shot Claudia another grin. "My name is Helena. Charles is... was my brother."

Helena's eyes clouded over as she corrected herself, followed swiftly by the return of everything else that had been weighing her down, and the unexpected moment of camaraderie she'd shared with Claudia came to an end just as quickly as it had begun.

Black eyes flicking towards the unseen sunset, Helena sighed. "I want to be on our way as early as possible. We should consider settling in for the night."

Claudia nodded in agreement - it wasn't as if there was any reason to stay up - and gamely offered to do her share of whatever 'settling in' entailed. "What can I do to help out?"

Helena looked back to the horizon as if gauging how much light remained. "I'm afraid I'm nearly useless after that fight earlier. If you would see to the horse, and then perhaps gather some firewood..."

Claudia, fine with the latter but terrified by the former, nodded as nonchalantly as she could. Gritting her teeth, she reached out for the war horse's reins, trying to picture a sweet, docile draft horse in its place. "Come on, girl, let's get you-"

The horse, somehow mortally offended by Claudia's attempts to be friendly, tossed its head with an angry snort and shied away, roughly yanking the reins from Claudia's hands. It then fixed Claudia with a furious stare, acting for all the world as if she had insulted it somehow.

Claudia smiled nervously at Helena, trying to hide her fear. Maybe they'd get along a little better if she knew more about the horse. "Uh... spirited little lady, huh? What's her name again?"

Helena, amused, merely crossed her arms and stood there as Claudia lost the battle of wills with her charger. "*His* name is Goliath."

Claudia fought not to roll her eyes - the beast was acting like this over an honest mistake in gender? No wonder she hated horses. Still, she refused to be further embarrassed in front of its owner, and made one last attempt to stare the charger down. "Good name for a war horse..."

It merely snorted at her in amusement, much like its mistress, and Helena finally grabbed the reins and placed them into Claudia's hands. Then she patted the beast on its nose, almost like a mother with a beloved but stubborn child. "Go with her, dear boy, and quit being so ridiculous. She didn't mean to insult you."

Claudia grinned despite herself as the horse actually bowed its head and let out a chastened huff. The charger followed her amiably enough as she led it to the nearby stall, and she found herself amused by how well horse and rider seemed to suit each other. "Goliath, huh? There's this story someone told me once about a giant with that name - a giant, and a tiny little guy named David..."

By the time Claudia finished her largely unschooled efforts at bedding down a much more pleasant Goliath - it turned out the horse had rather enjoyed her story - darkness had finally settled in completely. Helena had disappeared into one of the corners of the barn with a cryptic warning against trying to wake her after a day filled with so much fighting - something about soldier's instincts that Claudia didn't really understand, though the fact that she could end up badly injured by accident certainly registered clearly enough.

Rubbing at tired, scratchy eyes and still aching from a long day of riding, Claudia thought longingly of finding her own bed as she slipped out of the barn to gather the firewood Helena had requested - even the farmer and his wife seemed to have turned in for the night, as the cottage was now as dark as everything else.

It seemed unfair somehow that she was the last person awake after her own grueling day, but she couldn't really grumble about Helena's request for help when the woman had risked her own life to protect her - not that Claudia was any clearer on *why* she had. Still, the prospect of gathering wood out in the dark by herself was hardly a pleasant one.

For a moment or two, Claudia pondered whether gathering the firewood was even really necessary - surely they'd all be fine overnight without a fire. Then a cold gust of air rushed over her, a reminder that it would get uncomfortably cold up here in the hills now that the sun was down. Sighing, she set off to complete her chore, grateful that she at least had enough moonlight to see reasonably well.

It seemed to take an eternity, the night seeming to grow chillier with each passing second, but she finally managed to gather up an armful of brush and branches she hoped would work. She had expected the weight of it - heavy, though not unmanageable - but hadn't anticipated the simple awkwardness of her burden. The ever-shifting armful snagged on anything and everything, including her own clothing, not to mention the two branches she dropped for every one she tried to retrieve as it slipped from her arms.

Claudia was cursing and a little sweaty by the time she turned back to the barn - though she did notice that her aches and pains had lessened a little from all her movement. She grinned at Helena's probable amusement if she were to say as much, then grimaced as she realized there was probably another full day on horseback ahead of her tomorrow.

That, of course, brought to mind the unavoidable question of why a trained soldier - because Helena de Navarre could be nothing else, despite also being a woman - was so determined to keep around a petty thief who couldn't stay out of trouble to save her life. Claudia, being realistic, knew full well that she added nothing to the partnership that could even possibly begin to counterbalance all the work Helena had done to protect her so far.

It was possible that Helena was just lonely - the woman definitely traveled alone, and had apparently been doing so for a while - but that didn't quite seem like it, either. Of course, Claudia wasn't even convinced at this point that Helena was entirely sane - whatever tragedy had cursed her to wander in exile had clearly taken its toll, leaving the woman prone to some very odd turns of mood.

Really, though, it all boiled down to one thing once Claudia thought it over - she felt safer with Helena than without her, weird behavior and all. Even if Helena was merely biding her time until she found some way for Claudia to make herself useful, Claudia could live with that. It might even give her a chance to show that she wasn't completely helpless or witless, and redeem her a little in her rescuer's eyes.

A twig snapped in the darkness nearby, sounding far louder to a startled Claudia than it actually was. Claudia froze, thinking that staying still was probably best until she figured out what the noise was - it could be anything from a forest animal to Helena coming to check on her after her prolonged absence, and she didn't want to appear foolish again by overreacting. "Hello? Who's there? Is that you, Navarre?"

There was only silence, though Claudia wasn't sure an answer would have been any more reassuring. Another twig snapped nearby, followed by another lapse into silence, and Claudia began to get apprehensive. Silently chastising herself for not bothering to bring a weapon or even a lit torch, she fell back on her wits, the best and most reliable protection she'd ever had - in short, she started talking to herself. "Ah, Navarre - there you are! Listen, I'm sorry for wandering off like that, but I saw a good pile of branches just over there..."

She kept up a monologue as she went, a fake one-sided conversation with Navarre that would hopefully make whoever was following her think she had someone there to help defend her. She even tried to throw in a few non-committal responses of the sort Helena would make, though her attempt to alter her voice to match was definitely not her best work - the person following her was apparently no more impressed than she was, and the back of her neck began to prickle with genuine fear as they continued to follow her.

Testing her shadow's determination and intent, Claudia backed up a few steps, turned herself around, and started taking a different path to the barn. The unknown presence followed her without hesitation, even altering their pace to keep time with her own every time she changed it - even after she'd reached a brisk jog, whatever it was kept perfect time with her, remaining right behind her like nothing had changed.

Panicking now, Claudia broke into a full-out run for the barn. Clutching the ungainly pile of firewood to her chest - damned if she was just leaving it after all the work it had taken - she bolted through the trees as quickly as her legs would carry her, ignoring the branches and thorns that pulled at her and scratched her as she went. Finally, the woods gave way to the yard, and Claudia skidded to a stop with a gasp of relief - just to be safe, though, she turned to look back behind her, only to drop her precious bundle of firewood despite herself at the sight that greeted her.

The farmer stood just a few steps away, moonlight gleaming off the sickle in his hand - the same one whose razor-sharp edge he had absently tested in front of them earlier. The man's eyes glinted evilly as he swung that sickle down in an arc to Claudia's head - she threw up her hands with a shriek, cursing inwardly as she realized that she should have expected this after showing off that money pouch.

A ghastly snarl drowned out Claudia's shriek as something dark, furry, and exceedingly large sprang past her. Assuming at first that it was the dog coming to her aid, Claudia could only gape in disbelief as an enormous black wolf effortlessly dragged the farmer to the ground, glistening fangs closing around the man's throat. Claudia just stood there staring as the man struggled helplessly in the lethal vise of the wolf's jaws - then she gathered her wits about her and ran into the barn to go get Helena.

"Navarre! Helena! Get up - there's a wolf out there! It's killing the farmer!" Claudia slid to a stop inside the barn, almost doing a little dance as she spun around trying to find Helena. There was no sign of her, though, or of the hawk or the dog - just Goliath peering sleepily at her, not caring what the fuss was about so long as it ended quickly and he got to go back to sleeping.

Helena's gear was there, right where she had left it all, including the crossbow she had used to such good effect earlier. Claudia, desperate, snatched the thing up, along with an arrow, and ran to peer between a large gap in two of the boards that made up the barn wall - the farmer had stopped screaming once he died, but the wolf continued snarling savagely as it tore at the man's corpse. Wiping her sweaty forehead on her sleeve, Claudia nocked the arrow, took aim at the wolf, then tried to draw back the bowstring.

She pulled and pulled until her arms shook with the effort, but the thing did not budge. Finally, she just relaxed and stood there panting a moment, accepting the fact that the crossbow was designed for a full-grown man at least twice her strength. With a newfound respect for Helena's hardiness, Claudia began pulling at the bowstring again, throwing all the extra force her panic could give her into the act until - finally, finally - the string began to pull back.

A pale hand draped in familiar black reached around Claudia and plucked away the arrow.

Claudia turned around, saying a mental prayer of gratitude for Helena's timely return even as she began explaining the situation. "Oh, thank God! Look, there's a wolf-"

It was not Helena de Navarre standing behind her, and Claudia's words froze in her throat.

Navarre's scarlet-lined cloak was draped around the tall, slender figure of a woman who could only be described as unearthly. The strange woman seemed to glow as the moon's rays reflected off the black cloak, silvery light frosting the long brown curls that fell in a tumble from under her hood. Her skin, naturally fair to begin with, had the unnatural pallor of someone forced into utter exile from the sun, and wide, luminous green eyes stared at Claudia in bewilderment, as if that exile had also been from humanity itself.

Claudia stared right back, unable to help herself. The woman in front of her was easily the most beautiful creature Claudia had ever seen, despite her wan paleness - her beauty seemed to owe as much to inner perfection as outer, a certain purity of spirit radiating from her to fill the space she occupied.

She had Helena's sunflower in her hands, long, delicate fingers playing with its stem as she gazed at Claudia with a certain gentle bemusement. Finally, she spoke. "I know... It's alright..."

The beauty of her voice matched the beauty of her face, and for a long moment Claudia couldn't remember what it was the woman was supposed to know, or what was supposed to be alright. Then the wolf howled outside - an eerie, unearthly wail like the one she'd heard at sunset the night of her escape - and Claudia suddenly recalled the danger they were all in.

The woman didn't seem afraid, though. Her eyes had filled with some haunting, nameless emotion as she heard the wolf's cry - after that, she just turned away, walking past Claudia without a word as she headed toward the barn door.

Claudia instinctively tried to stop her, reaching for the woman's arm and missing. "Miss? My lady? You can't go out there! That wolf will kill you!"

"Miss, please!" Claudia all but screamed as the woman disappeared through the doorway. Feeling oddly bereft, Claudia just closed her eyes and bowed her head, tears trailing down her cheeks as she waited for the inevitable scream. When it didn't come, she opened her eyes to peer at the empty space where the woman had last stood.

Claudia slumped against the wall of the barn, hands sweaty and shaking as they gripped Helena's crossbow. "I've got to be dreaming. But my eyes are open, so maybe I'm awake and dreaming about being asleep. Or maybe I'm asleep, dreaming about being awake and then wondering if I'm dreaming..."

The mystery woman's voice, tinged with amusement, floated back to Claudia from just outside the barn door. "Oh, you're definitely dreaming..."

Claudia slapped herself hard across the face, wincing as it stung more than she expected, then leapt to her feet as she tossed the crossbow aside. Racing across the barn, she flung herself up the rickety ladder that led to the hayloft. After scrambling through the hay, she threw herself prone to stare out at the scene below her.

The woman stood out in the moon-washed yard, Navarre's cloak billowing around her slightly in the nighttime breeze. The farmer's mangled body lay at the far edge of the yard, in front of a makeshift lean-to, and the black wolf just sat next to it, watching curiously as the woman approached. She made no move toward the wolf itself, but merely stood gazing down at the bloody corpse it had left before she covered the farmer's remains with his own tattered cloak.

The woman's expression was largely unreadable from Claudia's vantage point, but her eyes seemed to fill with a mixture of anger and grief that Claudia thought had little to do with the dead man or the manner of his death. It had everything to do with the wolf she gazed upon, and it was disturbingly similar to what she'd seen in Navarre's eyes earlier.

The wolf was huge, easily the largest Claudia had ever seen - she figured it probably weighed as much as she did, if not more. Its thick black fur was coated in silver as it reflected the moonlight, making it seem to glow like the woman standing before it. The beast, strangely calm now for all its earlier ferocity, took a step toward the woman, and Claudia had to fight not to cry out and risk spooking it.

It closed the few steps between itself and the woman with excruciating slowness, golden eyes never leaving the woman's face. The woman merely smiled as if watching a very dear old friend approach - when it got close enough, she put out her hand for the wolf to examine. Those enormous black jaws opened, and Claudia nearly quit breathing.

Instead of growling or attacking, the wolf merely took the woman's arm in its jaw, tail giving a subdued wag of recognition. The jaws tightened ever so slightly, then let go - almost like it was gently squeezing her arm in greeting. The woman knelt down in front of the beast and circled her arms around its neck - the wolf wagged its tail a couple more times before docilely accepting the display of affection from the woman who could only be its mistress.

The wolf turned with a growl, startled and protective, as a man came racing into the yard. The man - with dark hair and dark eyes and a soldier's musculature to match his armor - spoke quietly to both wolf and woman, and the wolf relaxed. Then the man reached down to scratch the wolf between the ears before giving the woman a hug, apparently satisfied that all was well, and the trio took off into the trees together.

Claudia, utterly terrified, pushed away from the open doors of the hay loft. That was all she had the strength for, though, and she ended up just laying there in the hay, trembling and wide-eyed. Staring up at the barn roof, she started praying. "I know I didn't just see what I thought I saw, Lord. And I know what I'm thinking right now can't be true..."

Claudia had heard story after story of magic and witchcraft - everyone had - but she'd never seen anything with her own eyes to make her believe that they were true. Fear of something real and tangible - like the Bishop's Guard, or the animals in the forest - was bad enough, but this was just unsupportable. "Look, these are magical, unexplainable things that I know absolutely nothing about. Please, please, please don't make me part of them..."

Even as she uttered it, Claudia had a feeling that this particular prayer was one that would go unanswered.