We have some cover art now thanks to GWBrex - it may take time to load, so if you can't see it now it'll be visible soonish. Or check their DA. I cannot do links as usual.

Thank you so much for it, and I'm more than happy to run it here as the cover for the story. As you either noticed before, or have noticed now, it's a Sunday story. That means it'll be every Sunday and that a new story is going to be released this Tuesday. Without many spoilers, I'll say it's a story in which I want to go back to what I used to most love about RWBY – stories where something changes in Jaune's past and it influences his experience at Beacon. A lot of my current stories are outside Beacon or dodging it in some way, and I miss stories like One Good Turn, Not this Time Fate, etc.

Cover Art: GWBrex

Chapter 5

The tip of the arrow wavered. Stiff wind carrying the first traces of winter buffeted at cloth, whipping it this way and that and threatening to pull his aim off target. The powerful breeze carried also his scent away, leaving the pack of three deer blissfully unaware of the predator in their midst. His hand drew back, the bowstring drawing taut and yew wood creaking. He took a deep breath, let it go and released when his aim was truest.

Thunk. The arrow struck between head and shoulder, piercing into what hunters called the killing zone and knocking the deer from its feet. The other two looked up, panicked and bolted, leaving Jaune to rush from cover and draw a long hunting knife. His boots trudged across grass frozen near solid, skidding to a stop as he gripped the knife tight and brought it down to end the animal's suffering.

The man screamed as the knife pierced through his eye. Blood spurted up, splashing over his face as a dying rattle slipped forth from cracked lips. Jaune heaved a breath, closed his eyes and violently shook his head left and right. When he opened them again, it was but a deer, the animal slain and bleeding on the grass. Shakily, he reached up to touch his own face. No blood there. A vision. Another.

Two months it had been since the Huntresses came and went; two months since he'd been proclaimed free of possession; two months since he'd discovered the opposite. Two months. One month since harvest, a harvest he had, for the first time in his life, been allowed to take part of. He and the people of Ansel had toiled in the fields for a week and a day, then celebrated after with a feast and drinking. No one had danced with him. He'd expected no better. But they had invited him to drink, and no one shied away from him, and that was about as much as he could expect. Had they known the truth, they would have driven him away long before now.

Knees striking the frozen grass, Jaune hefted the carcass up onto his shoulders and stood. Everything would be used – such was the only way to respect the animal. Meat and blood for food, skin for clothing, bone and sinew for animals and tools and decoration, and even the hooves and antlers. There would not be much more hunting if the weather continued like this. By all signs, it looked like it would be one of the worst winters in years, though fortunately not an early one to threaten the harvest. They would be fine. Belts would have to be tightened and meat would consist only of fattened pigs, but it was a better life than many had.

Leaves rustled from a bush nearby. A low growl rose up. Jaune's eyes snapped to meet those of a timber wolf, its fur mottled and grey, hackles raised. It snarled and growled at him, head low and paws stretched out in front of it. Jaune stood, dear carcass on his shoulder, bow strapped to the back of his waist and both hands occupied.

"You're out late, aren't you?" he asked it. The wolf paused, its snarl biting off in the face of an enemy showing no fear. Wolves were dangerous, his father had ever made that clear. Where there were one, there might be a whole pack.

It was hard to be afraid when you feared something else far greater. His nights were filled with visions of war, his waking hours slowly becoming just as occupied. He had seen death – that of others, sometimes his own. No, another man's death. Other men's, rather. More than he could count. Some mornings he woke up with the copper taste of blood in his mouth or choking ash on his tongue.

"Most other prey will be hibernating," he continued. "Where is your pack?"

The animal couldn't understand him obviously, but it understood, perhaps, that he was neither threat nor easy prey. Robbed of its opportunity to score an easy meal by intimidating another predator away, the beast slunk back into the bushes, backing up without presenting its back to the hunter.

"No pack, huh…? I know how that feels." Before it could leave entirely, he stooped and let the carcass fall. The wolf paused, sensing it might have won, only for Jaune to cut through one of the deer's legs and toss it toward the bush. The wolf skittered back and growled, then, after a moment of silence, darted forward, gripped the leg in its jaws and dragged it away. "Make it last," Jaune advised. "There won't be much for anyone in the coming days."

Snow had crept in around the village when he returned, building up against the bottom of the wooden walls where the wind had blown it. From the outside, the village looked cold and deserted, with the only evidence of human life being the many plumes of smoke rising up from within. All through the last weeks, men had been chopping lumber from the nearby woods, aided by their children and women in carrying the hewn logs back into a central storage pile from which the entire village could draw from. There was still some left over from last year, but as the Mayor always said – excess prevents hoarding. By making sure everyone knew there was more than enough firewood, no one worried about keeping their own, hidden stores.

The farmlands lay buried under half a foot of snow, the wooden fences painted white and having cracked under the weight of the wind in places. They would be repaired in spring as they always were, but for now lay abandoned. The farms had served their purpose, and the livestock had been moved inside the walls, into the stables where they could share heat from the tavern and have plenty of hay.

Jaune walked through the slightly open gates, past a small campfire shaded under an awning under which two men with spears warmed wine in copper tankards. They glanced his way and nodded, moving not to question or impede him, and Jaune trekked inside, where the pathways were shovelled clear of snow each morning. Homes lay lit by fires within, warm glows emanating from windows invitingly, and a far grander one from the tavern, which bustled even now with noise. There wasn't much to do but drink, play games and chat during winter. Little hunting, no farming or fishing, and precious little labour other than to move firewood about or repair clothing.

The Arc homestead stood furthest from the gate unfortunately, and the trek brought him passed many a face curiously peeking at the animal on his shoulders, wondering if there would be meat spare after the numerous Arc members had taken their fill. There might well be, but custom was to grant it to the tavern to be shared with all. The choicest cuts would be gone by then, but such was the hunter's reward.

Jaune had to knock on the door with his foot to be let in. Juniper opened it, her face breaking into a wild smile on seeing him safe and sound and an even winder one on noticing the heavy buck on his shoulders. "Oh my!" she enthused, opening the door wide and ushering him in. Blood dripped onto the wooden floor, but that was nothing new in their home. "And Nicholas said you wouldn't be able to find any hunting this late in the month. That'll show him, huh?" She pinched his chapped cheeks and said, "My little boy is going to replace his old man at this rate."

That had been said loud enough for his father at the table to hear. Nicholas looked up from the leather jerkin he was repairing with needle and twine and rolled his eyes. "Everyone gets lucky once," he said. "Dump it on the tanning bench and come warm up, lad. You hunted it, so your sisters will butcher and skin it."

Numerous protests came from there. The girls were all more than adept around an animal carcass, but it would be cold, and then having to wash off after in freezing water would be even more so. They all looked toasty around the fire. Unfortunately for them, that was his goal too.

"Thanks girls." Jaune set the animal down and ignored their groans. He shucked off his gloves and wet boots, then stepped out onto a skin rug already warm under his feet. Sighing happily, he got down on his behind and pushed his feet close to the fire, wriggling his toes. "I needed this."

"And we didn't need more meat, yet you insisted." Nicholas said. "This is the last hunt of the year," he added firmly. "And no excuses from any of you. Tis too cold out there and like to get colder."

A chorus of "yes dad" and "yes father" echoed his declaration. They hadn't been hard up for food, and they hadn't needed the skins, but Jaune had desperately needed to get out and away from people. To forget about all the things plaguing him and think. Over the last two months, he'd begun to find that time spent alone in the wilderness was most peaceful.

People, faces especially, had an unfortunate tendency to make him see things that didn't exist. Things that might once have existed. The nightmares came daily now, and there was no pretending they were ought but his influence. His memories.

"The deer only has three legs." Amber reported. It sounded more like she was tattling on him, especially when everyone looked to him for an explanation.

"Used it to distract a timber wolf."

"So close to the village!?" Nicholas barked.

Jaune hummed. Technically, it hadn't been, on account of him roaming further than he was really supposed to, but he wasn't about to say that. "It was on its own and looked more pathetic than dangerous. It was more afraid of me than I was of it."

"That's the way with all animals, but it doesn't mean they can't be dangerous in numbers or if desperate enough. That's it. Absolutely no going out until spring. You're all of you confined to the village."

"Like there's anything to do anyway." Saphron said, already carrying a knife to the carcass. "The gates will be snowed shut anyway. Can we at least have snowball fights with the others?"

"As long as you stay within the walls, aye."

"Are you worried about more Grimm?" Jade asked.

"Enough of that!" Nicholas said quickly and swatted a hand at her head. Jade ducked, stuck her tongue out and promptly tripped over a stool and fell on her ass. Nicholas smirked. "And watch where you step. I don't want any of you lot feeding those stupid rumours about Grimm outside. That's Tulle talk, that is, and he's a fool who enjoys making good folk worry."

"There were still two Grimm." Hazel said. "Jaune saw them."

"They came with the huntresses, and they'll have left with 'em. Or have you not noticed that despite us all hunting for the last two months, we haven't seen sight, sound nor tracks of them?"

Everyone was forced to grumblingly agree. It had been a full week after the two left that the villagers started to feel safe to go out, and a large part of that was due to Nicholas leading a small militia to do patrols around the nearby woods. Jaune had been among them, as had Saphron, Jade, Hazel and Coral. They'd come across their fair share of wolves and other animals, all who avoided them, and they'd even found the spot where the two huntresses fought the Grimm, further proving their existence and giving Nicholas fresh tracks to search out.

Despite that, and another two days of searching, they hadn't found any sign of Grimm, and as the days passed in relative peace with nothing more than foxes stealing chickens, Ansel started to calm down. All except for Tulle of course, who continued on like it was the end of the world. And Jaune, who had not been able to escape the visions and nightmares.

"Fair warning," Jaune piped up. "I was seen bringing the carcass back by a whole load of people."

"Nosey bints." Nicholas grumbled.

"We'll make a donation to the Mayor as usual," Juniper said. "You know how people are, Nicky. If we don't, they'll only imagine we're sitting on a treasure trove of meat and venison."

"Winter always brings out the worst in people. It's having too much free time on your hands that does it."

"Spoken like a crotchety old man." Coral teased.

"This crotchety old man can still smack you girls around a training ring. And b'sides, you know it's true. When there's work to be done and farms to be tilled, people have other things to worry about. It's when you've naught to do but sit and drink that the mind starts wandering and boredom kicks in. Would that we could hibernate through the winter like the animals do."

"And miss the solstice festival? No way!"

"I wouldn't say no to sleeping." Jaune said. "Nor to drinking."

"Then you can grab yourself a drink when you take our offering to the tavern," Juniper said. Jaune groaned, realising he'd walked into that one when the girls jeered and laughed. At least he wouldn't have to wash off blood in cold water like them. And there were benefits to time spent in the tavern.

/-/

Mayor Cobbin made a huge fuss of the meat when it arrived, loudly proclaiming his thanks in a manner designed to make sure every other person in the tavern heard. Best way to ward off rumours. The tavern was packed, as it was almost all day, every day of winter. A large fire pit roared in the middle, with benches set around it and tables further away.

Some tables were being used for games of various kinds, from dice games like passage and zara, to cribbage and nine men's morris on the cards. More were set aside for simple eating and drinking, though there were a fair share of storytellers as well. It was customary for the elders to tell stories to the youngest, both as a form of teaching them valuable lessons and to spare their parents some free time.

Most of the winter was spent in a haze of drunk and hungover for Ansel. There really was nothing else to be done but wait, and little to do while waiting other than to drink. Raucous laughter broke up from one corner of main hall, followed swiftly by a few tables down as the joke spread. Jaune ignored it and accepted a heated mug of warm wine from Katrina, smiling his thanks and carrying it to a quieter corner of the hall where he could sit on a bench and drink.

Less were the glares and warding sigils made against him – though a few, noticeably Tulle and his lot, continued them. Katrina would hold his gaze now, and many of the other parents had ceased to lead their children away. It didn't suddenly leave him with more friends because permission or not, most of the younger generation in Ansel had grown up treating him as a loner, and that wouldn't change any time soon. But at the very least, he was allowed to eat and drink and work with them. That was an improvement.

His vision swam as he took another drink, turning the walls to hard stone and building the fire higher, two fires, a far grander hall in which men pledged their loyalty and joined swords under the cracking of barrels and flowing of ale. "To the end!" a voice proclaimed. "To the end of the Eternity Queen, and the dawning of a new era!"

The bench flexed beside him. Jaune jumped, snapping out his vision and glancing to the side. "Dad…?"

Nicholas had his own mug, along with a worn smile. "Your mother and the girls were invited with a bunch of the other village women to whatever it is they do when we're not watching."

"Mayor Cobbin says they pray for an early spring and fertility for fields and themselves."

"Horse shit." Nicholas said with a snort. "I'll bet my arm they're drinking, singing and having their own little party that us dumb men aren't invited to. They only say it's that to keep us out."

That was possible too he supposed. "So, you decided to come here as well?"

"Nothing else to do, is there? Unless you want to spar."

"I would in the morning."

"Aye. Too cold right now. My arm is like to shatter if you hit it." He worked it for emphasis, and little flakes of snoke and ice clinging to his fur coat splashed to the floor. "I hate winter. Always have, always will. It's like the world grinds to a halt, and all you can do is wait to see if it starts up again."

That was a good metaphor. Ansel had certainly ground to a halt, for all that people were making the best of it as they always had. It was a holiday of sorts, but it didn't feel like one. It felt like a cold slog from fire to fire, stopping for warmth before moving on. Some deep-seated feeling told Jaune he hated it too, but only because his mind provided images of trudging through thick snow in heavy armour and a formation of men, of fighting against a blizzard before collapsing and feeling himself be buried alive. He took another long drink to banish the visions. They came thick and fast now, and he wasn't sure if it was strength or weakness that had him able to act like nothing was wrong.

"Your sisters were still going on about Grimm when I left," he went on. "I hope you've not been feeding them stories on that. Don't do Tulle's work for him."

"I haven't been," he answered honestly. He wanted everyone to forget about it as well, especially since his survival should have raised questions by now. "You seem pretty sure they're gone, though."

"Don't start…"

"I'm not doubting you!" Jaune said. "I think they are, too. I'm just curious how you know. You've even been teaching us how to use spears and formations to fend them off and kill them since we were young."

He'd never thought odd of that. Never questioned it. It just seemed the done thing that his father, so sure and knowledgeable in many things, would teach them and the villagers how to fend off Grimm. But now that he knew what they were really like, and how Ansel had not contended with any for decades, he had to wonder why. It had also been a question raised when the huntresses expressed surprise that anyone would be taught how to fight them, even with spear, pike and traps.

"Where did you learn those things?" Jaune asked.

Nicholas didn't answer for the longest time. He sighed and drank and looked off into the middle distance. Eventually, begrudgingly, he began to speak.

"I didn't always live here in Ansel." He paused, took another drink and continued. "It's no secret if you ask enough people. Your mother was born and raised here, and I married in. Before that, long ago, I used to be a farmer's son, but I hated that life and wanted freedom. Adventure." He grunted. "Or I thought I did. Folly of youth. I saved up my money, bought myself a spear and snuck off with a merchant caravan, swearing myself as a squire to one of the guards."

"You were a knight!?" Jaune spluttered.

"A knight? Piss, no." Nicholas laughed. "I was a dumb-ass kid, and the guy that took me on saw an easy way to make coin off me. Squire." He shook his head. "I was a glorified manservant for them, cooking food, cleaning armour and being knocked about in training. They were good to me, I suppose, for all that they were fleecing me something fierce. I learned to fight, learned to look after myself, and after a couple of years they set me loose with some coin for my troubles."

"Is that when you came to Ansel?"

"Not quite. I was in Mistral at the time. Yes," he said when Jaune looked amazed. "All across the ocean. We travelled a lot. I tried getting myself signed up to a caravan but without a company that wasn't easy. In the end, I was recruited in a tavern by an old hand who was starting up his own mercenary company."

A mercenary. He'd have never thought of it of the dependable and well-liked man who was his father and a pillar of the local community. Mercenaries were routinely hated, mostly for their allegiance to coin, but also because they were rough and violent, and often stole away young men and women who liked the sound of adventure. It was hard to imagine his father like that.

"I fought with them for ten years," he said. "Ten long, hard-bitten years. It pays good, being a mercenary, especially when you're part of a big band hired for dangerous jobs. Problem is, while the money is good so are the costs. You rake in the coin, but then you start thinking that a good set of armour will keep you alive, and that's expensive. So is paying a blacksmith to hammer it back into place and fix it after a battle. Then you want a shield and a sword, then ever better armour, shields and swords. A good set of gear keeps you alive, but a good set of gear costs more than you make in a year. Then there's the lifestyle," he added with a sigh. "You spend every month as if it's your last, because you might die at any moment. Drinking, food, whoring – you piss coin like water. Fine food, fine drink and finer women. Took me a while to realise I was going nowhere, and that I wasn't getting any younger either."

"Is that when you decided to retire?"

"No. That was after the company was torn to shreds." Nicholas grimaced and Jaune sucked in a sharp breath. "It was, if you can believe it, a job where we were hired by the church. By the Eternity Queen herself."

"The Goddess-?"

"We never saw her of course. Officially hired by her, but more realistically by her Chosen, the Huntresses. Our job was to help them put down what we were told was a local insurrection. Some fuckers causing trouble and rebelling against the Eternity Queen. The pay was good – too good to be honest, but we figured it was from the Queen, so why wouldn't it be? Greedy fools, we were."

"Was it against Grimm?"

"They were there, aye, but they weren't our target. Huntresses dealt with them, and they dealt with them well." He took a long drink, set the tankard down and sighed. "Our mission was to deal with the normal enemies – the men, women and even children who had taken up cause with what we didn't know, with who we were not told, was the fucking Dark Lord himself."

It was like the very air he was breathing was stolen from his lungs. Jaune tried to reach out for more, only to find the air chill and sharp, biting into his throat until it felt raw.

He saw it clearly – the cavalry, the stampeding hooves, the screaming and the shouting and the dying and the begging and the bleeding and all those open eyes staring up at the sky. He felt the weight of a two-handed axe in his hand, the slick wetness of blood running down his fingers, and the harsh crack of armour shattering under the weight of his blows. He could smell blood, fire and urine, thick on the air. So thick he could taste it.

"-I was the only survivor." Nicholas said. "We didn't all die there, but those that lived didn't survive their wounds. I was lucky. And it got me thinking that I wouldn't always be that lucky, so while the Huntresses took the Dark Lord away, while they went to do whatever it is they do, I took their coin offered, mounted my horse and rode away from it all. Away from Mistral, the company and that life. Until I was in Vale and found a quaint little village and a charming young lass who I couldn't keep my eyes off." He snorted. "Winning your grandfather's approval was a chore and a half, let me tell you. Saved his life from wolves once and it only made him more paranoid. Worked in the end, though. I sold my weapons, sold my armour and paid for a decent-sized house for Juniper and I. In a way, I suppose I was the last member of the-"

"Golden Griffons." Jaune said without meaning to. Their standard, a golden creature on a purple field flashing before his eyes.

"Aye." Nicholas eyed him shrewdly, then turned away to drink again. "Aye, that was who we were. I guess your mother must have mentioned it within hearing."

No. He just remembered killing many of them, fighting them, maybe even fighting his own father. Jaune struggled for a change in conversation and settled on the obvious. "Is that why you distrust huntresses? You weren't exactly friendly when they came here."

"I don't distrust them – they do good work and they're brave lasses – I just dislike what they represent. Something we learned back then, that they themselves told us so we'd be ready, is that Grimm are drawn to aura. That power of the Goddess and the Dark Lord both acts out like a beacon to them, like food. That's why I didn't want them sticking around and also why I didn't want you going out to show them the way to the footsteps!"

Jaune ducked his head, both to hide his shame and his fear. "I'm sorry."

"It's done now and you came back safe and sound. This is why I know we don't have to worry about Grimm. It was they that brought the Grimm, unintentional or otherwise, and now they're gone we've naught to worry about. This is no big, dark secret, you realise. Half the village knows what I was, so you don't need to fear for discovery. I just don't like bringing it up. Never wanted to romanticise that kind of life and have you or any of the others take it up and suffer like I did."

"Hunting," he continued. "It doesn't pay as well but it's satisfying work. Every deer I kill is families fed, and every time I drive wolves or bears away is young folk protected. I help more people as a hunter than I ever did as a mercenary and that's the truth."

"I won't become one." Jaune promised. Then, to be honest, added, "Not if I can help it."

"Good lad. You're wiser than I was at your age."

"But…" Jaune said, drawing a wary look. "If I can, would you be willing to teach me a little swordplay? Just with wooden swords. I'm curious to see what it's like."

"Is that all?" Nicholas grinned. "Aye, I suppose I can do that. I'm a little rusty myself, but I'm sure it'll come back to me. Not much good against animals, even less against Grimm, but if it's as a hobby then I've no issue with it. Might even be a little fu-"

"Nicholas!" The cry came from a guard, one that was supposed to be at the gates. He looked haggard and wet, dripping on the entrance to the tavern. "Nicholas, are you-? There you are!" He hurried in with wet and heavy steps. Everyone went silent, drawn to the panic and listening intently. "Nicholas," the man gasped. Hadrian, Jaune knew him as. Older than he and trained by Nicholas to fight and use a bow. He worked the gates and had even fought off a bear before. Now, he looked afraid. "We've got visitors at the gates – desperate ones. Injured and bleeding all over the place."

Chatter spread, news and fear – though thankfully more curious now than an immediate panic. This was no bandit attack or dangerous animals on the hunt, at least not any that were threatening Ansel.

"Injured, you say?" Mayor Cobbin asked as he bustled over. His voice carried, ever perfect for convincing people to listen. "How many-? And by the Goddess, tell me you brought them inside and by a fire, man!"

"Yes, Mayor. I had them delivered to the nearest house. Ol' Martha is looking after them."

"Good lad! Now, how many and how badly?"

"Two, my lord. A girl and a man – likely her father." Hadrian looked aggrieved. "Not likely to remain as such long if his wounds are anything to go by. His back's been torn open."

Jaune heard the chatter rise in volume. Hadrian should have reported this privately, and Cobbin and Nicholas looked about ready to ask for that before realising it was much too late now. The damage was done. Better to alleviate concerns now and act rather than retire to secrecy and let rumour and imagination take over.

"Did they say where they're from and what happened?"

"The girl managed a few words. Near to freezing, she was. They came from Patch."

"The island-? How have they made it this far?"

"That's just it, sir. Patch… She says Patch has fallen, lost. Her and her father shoved out by boat and by the Goddess' grace made it this far, but while they were trying to make their way here, they were attacked!" Hadrian's voice rose along with his panic. "Attacked by a great beast – a Grimm!"

"Calm! Calm!" Cobbin roared over the sudden noise. "Calm yourselves, I say!" He stepped up onto a bench and clapped his hands together loudly. "Ever are those who mistake things in the dark of night and close to death's door! We have no evidence of any Grimm, and more than enough of none! Our own scoured the forests for no sign unless you have all forgotten."

"It's the Dark Lord!" Tulle shouted out. "The harsh winter, the cursed boy, can't you see it's all related?"

"Your eyes saw a failed harvest, Tulle!" Cobbin accused. "They saw a flood this spring, a blight among the crops and diseased cattle, none of which I dare say happened!" The man shrunk back and several people tittered. "If you're here claiming this is the work of the Dark Lord, that fills me with relief – because it surely means it won't happen!"

The quiet laughter turned into whooping, applause and mockery, and Tulle soon slunk away with his cronies muttering all the time. Jaune wished that he could laugh with them, but for the fact that he had aura, that he knew he had what his father had claimed would draw Grimm. Was I responsible for these people being attacked? Is this my fault?

"Nicholas and I will see to our guests and help them as best we can." Mayor Cobbin went on. "The rest of you try not to cause a fuss and for the love of the Goddess don't crowd poor Martha! The last thing these poor souls need is curious folk crowding 'em."

People nodded and forced themselves to sit. Visitors in the winter were never trusted, but that only applied to those who made the choice, for no sane man travelled in such snows. Those driven by necessity were not so ill-trusted, for it was assumed they had not the choice.

"Nicholas, with me please." Cobbin said. "You can come along as well if you wish, Jaune. I trust you to keep a calm head and mayhaps you can help distract the poor lass while we see to her father."

Nicholas nodded and Jaune stood. "Of course, sir. I'll do whatever I can."

"You're a good lad, much like your father. See yourself back to the wall, Hadrian, and keep an eye out. Grimm or no, there might yet be other survivors looking for shelter. We have food enough not to turn away desperate souls."

"Yes sir. I'll have lanterns lit along the walls to light the way!"

"Aye. Good thinking. Away with you, then. Nicholas, come. We'd best get to the bottom of this!"

They walked out into the blistering cold, tugging their hoods up and holding their hands against the wind. Cobbin led them, rushing quickly from the heat of the tavern toward the single building that was Ol' Martha's, a widowed mother of three who was well-loved by the people for her cooking and stories. Her windows shone with firelight, and another guard stood by the door, his gloves soaked with blood. Human blood.

"If there is a beast out there, we'll need to decide what we're going to do." Cobbin said as they entered the house and quickly pulled their hoods down. The air smelled of blood and burnt herbs. It was too cold to open a window.

"Stay within the walls." Nicholas said instantly.

"Aye, that'd be my choice too, but it'll depend on what this lass says. With any luck, they'll have run afoul of a large bear and roused it from hibernation. A tragedy, but one that won't continue beyond them. If not, well, I'm loathe to ignore a monster out in the trees. Best to lure it out and deal with it, no? Fight it on our terms."

It felt more a question than a statement, and the way the mayor watched Nicholas for any reaction proved it. He knew of his father's past; knew and was asking him for advice on how to handle the situation.

"If it is a Grimm…" Nicholas stressed the `if` sharply. "Then we will adapt. If it's just the one, we may well be able to deal with it without too much risk. I'd rather be certain before we cause any panic, however."

"Aye. Aye, that sounds a good idea."

They rounded the corner and into the large room that took up most of the homestead. A fire burned in the fireplace, leading up to a slanted hole in the thatch. Before that, a crooked old woman knelt before a figure laid flat on his back, drenched with melting snow and blood. Beside him, with tear streaks running down her face, a girl with dark hair looked up at them with desperation.

"My father!" she cried with hands gripped to her knees. "Please save him!"

It was the first time Jaune had ever seen eyes that curious shade of grey, almost bright enough to be silver.

A wild Ruby appears.

Next Chapter: 27th February

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur