Blood froze from dark red to moonlight blue under the slap of Cydric's bare feet. Each step took more skin off of the gouged soles and froze it to the rough granite of the craggy trail. A week ago he would have run in the snow, but the hard freeze had made the glittering crust like thin glass. Moreover, rocks didn't leave deep footprints, just bloody ones. Cydric hoped that whoever was chasing him couldn't track by the smell of blood. It had only been five minutes, maybe less, since he'd last heard the dozen crunching feet closing in behind him, and most faunus breeds could scent a hare under six feet of snow. Cydric ran faster.

He was becoming too numb to feel the rocks beneath him. Soon he'd have to put his boots back on, or he'd start losing toes. Besides, the sure-footedness of being barefoot no longer applied once you couldn't feel the ground. The last thing he could afford was to slip, break a leg, and lay helpless for his pursuers.

He crossed into the shadows of the pine forest. The moon didn't shine through the limbs, and even the white of the snow had disappeared from his fading vision. Feeling his way in the dark, he bounced off of something like a tree trunk and steadied himself. The tree was devoid of bark, and had jagged edges carved into it. Cydric sighed with relief. He leaned against the pole and began trying to navigate his frozen feet into his cowhide boots. He might lose a toe, but it was better than losing his head.

As his eyes adjusted and his strength returned, he suddenly saw the grim, scowling face of a blocky creature hovering next to his. Chills not from the harsh winter shivered down his arms and back. The face resolved further, lips bright red, eyes stark white. He looked away, despite it being the very thing he'd hoped to run into. Like it could see into him, and knew who he was.

The pole with the carven faces was part of a forest all its own, rimming the edge of the northern slope of the granite butte. Dozens of images, evil faces on top of comical ones, mixed with animals and spirits, were all hewn into the trunk of sacred trees and placed as a barrier between the Kelkut village and the granite butte. The tribal totems were said to protect the natives against those with evil sewn into their souls. Cydric hoped that was true, but not too true.

He huddled in the coat that he'd taken from the one he'd decapitated and counted to one hundred. Nothing moved but wraithlike wisps of snow in the icy breeze. They had lost his trail.

He lit a match, and the wooden faces sprang to life. With a weak, shaking hand, he touched one on the forehead. "Watch over me, please. For all our sakes, let my path be protected." The face didn't reply. As he walked away, Cydric thought, I wonder, what sorts of evil do you protect against? Hopefully, not all of them.