"You know," Kells said, "Mors might have done us a bit of a favor." His gray eyes flitted over towards Aela as she stood, wiping the sweat from her brow. "How did you think we'd be hauling this thing out of here?"

Martimeos prodded the remains of the moose with his foot. Flit sat perched on his shoulder, the cardinal somewhat quiet and abashed, having flown back to report the giant bear he had spotted, only to be informed that his master had already encountered it. Despite the violence with which Mors had torn the carcass in two, there was less blood in the snow than he might have thought. The reason for this had become clear, as they had dug out the other half of the carcass- Aela had already field-dressed the moose before burying it, packing its cavities with snow, though strangely, while she had gutted it, she kept the vitals packed inside the carcass as well, cooled by ice. He knew some hunters made meals of animal intestine, but had never seen it done himself. But Kells' point was well-taken; even with Mors having taken half of it, what remained of the backside was humongous, a bloodstained mass of brown-furred flesh and two long hooved legs, larger by itself than any game Martim had ever seen taken down.

Aela had been working over the carcass with a rope, cursing at the state Mors had left the hide in. She had used a remaining ragged flap of skin to close off the cavity, binding it to the legs, and then folded up bound the legs to what remained of the torso. The Crosscraw woman was good with knots; the carcass was now bound as tightly as it probably could be, cords winding it about and sinking into its fur. "Ah planned tae quarter it an' make a few trips," she muttered, wiping bloodstained hands in the snow, "Bring more folk back wit' us on th'return. But I dinnae think tha' es a good idea nae longer. Best tae drag this oot, as quick as we can." Blowing a long strand of red hair from her eyes, she held up three long lengths of rope bound to the moose in one hand. "'Twill nae be an easy prospect, I willnae lie to ye. But bind this rope tae ye, an ye can at least walk wit' yer arms free."

Martimeos and Kells each took a length of rope to fasten to themselves, and once they had, Aela began to quickly tie her own cord around her chest with nimble, darting fingers. Elyse approached, her black robes trailing in the snow, dark eyes wide and curious as she frowned, Cecil padding silently by her side. "Where's mine...?" she asked, glancing towards the Crosscraw. "You've only tied three."

Aela tugged at the bound around her chest, testing its strength as it went taught against the moose, before glancing towards the witch with mirth written clear on her face, despite her green eyes being concealed beneath the cloth wound around them. "Yers?" she snorted, almost on the verge of laughter. "Ye cannae pull this moose en any way that would help us! Look at ye, yer so wee! Ye'd do yerself an injury pullin'."

Elyse yelped, eyes widening in shock, as Aela gave her bottom a playful smack. She stood perfectly still, her mouth opening and closing for a moment, making small strangled sounds. Martimeos exchanged an uneasy glance with Kells as Elyse's face slowly blushed crimson to the roots of her hair. "I...am not that small," she forced out, her voice sounding strained, as if she struggled mightily to remain civil. "I assure you, I would not..." she gritted her teeth, and breathed, "injure myself-"

But now Aela did laugh, hands on her hips, and then reached out to give Elyse's cheek a pinch. "Adorable," she chuckled. "Dinnae worry about et, lassie. Leave et tae the ones with th'muscle."

Elyse's face went from blushing red to deathly pale; a wild fire danced in her dark blue eyes, and Martimeos could have sworn the snarl she wore should have melted the snow she stood in. "Well!" he said loudly, as the witch raised a finger and opened her mouth, "Why don't we get moving. I should not like to have this moose still tied to me when the night falls."

Apparently unaware of the murderous glare she was recieving, Aela nodded, long red curls bobbing about her face as she did so. Martimeos heard Kells breathe a sigh of relief as they set out, although he was sure he could feel Elyse's eyes burning a hole in his back as they began to pull, the witch bringing up the rear behind them, disconcertingly silent.

Unfortunately, Martimeos reflected after not much time, Aela had been true to her word. With the rope binding him to the moose carcass fastened around his chest, and already burdened by the pack on his back, it quickly became apparent that this was going to be an exhausting journey. The moose's remains slid smoothly through the snow much of the time, at least, leaving a wide, flat trail behind them, and Aela soon led them to a hunting trail, wide enough that they would not have to worry overmuch about the corpse becomining entangled in the roots of the pine trees that stretched towards the sky all around them. The path, however, quickly sloped uphill, further up into the mountain, towards a shadowed peak looming above the snowy pines, far into the distance. It was not long before Martimeos found himself dripping with sweat, despite the chill, soaking into Elyse's hat on his head as he pulled the brim down over his eyes, to protect against the glare of the sun off all that snow.

It was slow going, dragging the carcass, and he thought they had covered perhaps a single mile by the time his muscles were burning with effort, every step a struggle, his injured arm throbbing in spite of Elyse's healing, silent except for the grunts and gasps for breath. Aela, too, was exhausted, her red hair dark and matted with sweat, mumbling curses in between wheezing breaths. Kells, out of all of them, seemed to fare the best of all of them. The soldier might be somewhat lanky, but there was a real strength and endurance in him from a lifetime of long marches and patrols; despite wearing a pack, and armor, he seemed the least out of breath, despite the sweat dripping down his face, shadowed beneath his kettle-helm. He used his spear as a walking-stick, stabbing the shaft downward into the snow, pulling himself forward with his arms as well as his legs, storm-gray eyes scanning the path ahead cautiously. Elyse, of course, trudged along beside, arms crossed, shooting dark glares at them, the moose, the trees, the snow, and the world in general.

The sun was high in the sky when they first decided to break, taking advantage of a flattening of the slope up which they walked to stow the moose beside the trail while they rested. Martimeos untied the now sweat-damp rope from around his chest and staggered away from the carcass, his legs thanking him for the relief as he stretched and cracked his back, limbs trembling. "How much further?" he groaned, once he had his breath back.

Aela, who was doubled over beside him, catching her breath, steadied herself on a tree as sweat dripped from the tip of her nose into the snow. Kells, who was still barely out of breath, unslung a waterskin from around his shoulder and handed it to her. "Ach, yer a darlin'," the Crosscraw woman muttered, as she took a hearty swig, water spilling down the sides of her face. She wiped sweat from her brow, then glanced towards Martimeos, eyes still invisible beneath the cloth. "I'd say mebbe twice as far again as we've already gone."

Kells smiled with tranquil unconcern as Martimeos let loose a string of angry, grumbling curses, taking his waterskin back as Aela handed it to him. "It could be worse," the soldier said calmly, shrugging with a small smile at Martim's glare. "We could be dead. It could always be worse."

"One of you could always switch out with me, if you were tired," Elyse said softly, reaching down to pet Cecil as he curled around her ankles. Then she laughed, deceptively light, dark blue eyes glittering as she looked at Aela. "Oh wait. I am too wee and adorable for that."

"You're welcome to take my spot, if you wish," Martimeos muttered, as he retrieved his pipe from a pocket. He did his best to suppress a mischievous smile as he raised his dark green eyes to the witch, schooling his face to a look of innocent seriousness. "I'd be glad for the rest. What say you take the next march?"

Elyse looked taken aback for a moment, slamming her mouth shut. Then she glared daggers at him, tugging at a strand of her long dark hair. "Look at you," she snapped, irritation sharp in her voice as she changed the subject. "You've gotten my hat all sweaty. I should make you wash it before you return it. I am sure it will stink of smoke, too. Bah!" Martimeos shrugged apologetically at her as he took a long, hearty puff from his pipe.

The place where they had stopped was indistinguishable from any other on the mountain, as far as Martimeos could see. Snowcapped pines rose all around them, their knotted roots tangling with each other and growing knobbed and thick around boulders nearly as tall as he was. But as he walked around, shaking fatigue from his limbs, he did come across one curiousity. A bit into the treeline, carved into a slope, looked like what might have once been the entrance to a small cave, an entrance into the dark earth, ringed about by root-covered stone. Piled up before it, however, were hundreds of rocks, some as small as his fist, others so large he did not think he could have lifted them alone. One thing was clear, however. The stones were not there naturally; they had been placed deliberately, stacked carefully so that they had blocked off the entrance to the cave entirely.

Puffing on his pipe, Martimeos considered this. Maddie had told him, in her final letter before they had left Twin Lamps, all she had known of what bogge-men could do. The strangest thing about them, in Martim's opinion, was how they could use doorways to slip between this world and someplace Outside. Only, Maddie had said, it was not just doorways; it was...anything, really, that served as a portal from one place to another. He had assumed that this had meant anything manmade, but...seeing those stones piled up before the cave entrance, he wondered if something as simple as a hole in the earth could serve for them. Just how little would it take, to make something that a bogge-man could step through? He glanced around at the pine trees surrounding him. If some of these branches formed an arch, would that be enough to serve as a doorway...?

When he rejoined the others, he found them sitting on a fallen tree by the moose carcass, Kells pulling out rations from his pack. Martimeos joined them, accepting the meal of bread and cold sausages happily - he had not noticed until now, but he was famished, perhaps his fatigued limbs had masked his hunger. When he asked Aela about the stones stacked before the cave entrance, she nodded. "Aye. 'Tis because of the bogge-men that 'twas done. Ah dinnae ken mahself ef they can use the caves tae disappear as they do, but either way..." She paused for a moment, falling silent, swallowing, before continuing. "Deep en th'earth," she said quietly, "There're doors they can use as such. Et es in th'caves that the bogge-men often lurk."

"I have heard tales of similar doors, in the mines of Twin Lamps. Have your folk ever explored what is in them?" Kells had unbuckled his kettle-helm, revealing his sweat-matted, short black hair, which he was briskly rubbing snow into to cool off.

"Ah would think some must hae tried, at the least, but ef they did Ah hae never heard their tale. Ef they returned tae tell et." In the shade of a pine, Aela reached up to untie the cloth from around head, revealing bright green eyes staring off into the distance, down the path they must follow. "Even before th' bogge-men came, th'doors down en th'dark were nae considered safe. Some said they led tae the Outside." She seemed to withdraw inward, glancing down at the ground. "Perhaps," she said quietly, "One o' them even led tae the Land o' Dim, and 'tis through that door that th' Bogge-King stepped."

Elyse, who had been idly passing crumbs to Flit as the bird hopped back and forth on the log beside her, glanced up towards Aela, her dark mood temporarily evaporated by curiousity. "The Land of Dim?"

Aela tugged at her long red hair and blushed, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Ach, 'tis...just a tale fer children, really. Mothers would tell their wee ones tha' ef they were naughty, th' man en th' moon would come en th'night an take them tae the Land o' Dim, where food has nae taste an' color does nae exist, an' they would be lost ferever. Et's just..." She sighed, giving Elyse a bashful smile. "Grizel may hae use her Art tae grant us shelter, but she's mad, as well. People dinnae listen much tae her ramblings. Ah did though, once. She tol' me...well, many things. But one o' them were that th' Bogge-King makes his home in th' Land o' Dim." At Elyse's skeptical look, she blushed even further and put her hands to her face. "Ach! Ah shouldnae hae even said et. She also said th'man in th'moon were real an had a castle there, but he had been kilt by cats. 'Twas nonsense. Naebody knows what th' Bogge-King is, or from where he hails."

"One guess is as good as another, if nobody truly knows," Martimeos replied quietly. He had heard plenty of tales of mad old witches and wizards. Enough to know that there could be wisdom in their madness, if one knew how to listen for it.

"Aye, an all are equally bad," Aela muttered darkly. "Fir mah guess, he es a daemon, though he doesnae try tae talk tae ye." She shivered, looking about the shadowed woods that surrounded them. "'Tis...strange, tae hear he walks th'land. He doesnae do so often, hisself. He lets his bogge-men do th'work. Ah hae never even seen him, though I hae heard tale o' him."

"Has anyone ever tried to kill him?" Kells asked, gray eyes thoughtful. "What sort of tales have you heard?"

But now Aela seemed entirely withdrawn, green eyes looking inward, subdued. "The only tale that matters," she said grimly, "Es ef he sees ye, ye're dead."

The Crosscraw did not speak further after this, chewing on her bread in silence. And it was not long after that they rose, binding themselves to drag the moose carcass once more, and continued on.

As exhausting as the first half of their march had been, the second was even more brutal. What was once a sunny sky slowly became gray and overcast as they struggled along. While this did mean that the sunlight did not gleam so harshly over the snow - Aela untied the cloth from around her eyes, and Martimeos handed Elyse back her hat, the witch grumbling under her breath at the state of it as she placed it back atop her head - it also meant that the chill grew more bitter. Martimeos was both too hot and too cold at the same time; a dull, exhausted heat burned within him, and then searing cold bit him as the chill air came into contact with his sweat-damp skin. Even Kells seemed to be feeling the sting of exhaustion, now, the soldier gritting his teeth and concentrating on the ground before him , focusing on moving his boots forward.

The slope seemed to grow maddeningly steep in some parts, the hunting trail winding itself between cliffsides and hills that rose up high on either side of them, always thick with pines. Martimeos knew that the slope was never actually that bad, in reality, but when exhausted, and dragging a heavy moose carcass behind, it felt practically as if the land rose straight up into the air. Slowly, the world seemed to retreat from him, as he focused inwards, focusing entirely on moving his body forward, step by step, fighting against aching, burning muscles.

Time dragged on and on; it felt like an entire day had passed already, though they had been marching for, at most, several hours. A gentle flurry of snow began to fall from the slate-gray sky. Nobody suggested stopping, however. It was perhaps Aela's words over the Bogge-King that spurred them on. With the sunlight gone behind the clouds, the shadows in the forest seemed to leer, more sinister than before, though it remained as silent as ever, with neither Flit nor Cecil reporting any sign of bogge-men as they wove between the trees. And a good thing, too, for as tired as they were, Martim did not think they would put up much of a fight.

It was when Aela fell in the snow, and was only prevented from rolling downhill by Kells catching her, that Elyse demanded they stop once more. "You three are going to kill yourselves if you struggle to exhaustion," the witch snapped, pushing them off the trail. She brushed dark hair out of her dark blue eyes, frowning as Kells, Martimeos and Aela leaned against trees, panting and catching their breath. "If I am too small to help you pull, I can at least attempt to heal you."

"Heal us?" Kells said, mopping sweat from his brow, giving her a curious look. "We're tired, not injured."

"Fatigue is a type of injury," Elyse said, as she stepped forward, feet crunching in the snow. "Though unlike a wound. Those with the skill can make you feel as if you've just woken up after running a marathon. I do not have the practice with that, but I can perhaps heal severe strain a bit."

The witch placed her hands upon Aela's face, closing her eyes as she did so. The Crosscraw woman flinched a bit, but after a moment her eyes widened, and she gave a happy, though weary, grin. "Ach, that's a relief, lassie," she said, as Elyse stepped back, frowning at her. "Ah could kiss ye."

"Try it and I'll give you something you really need healing for," Elyse muttered in reply. She moved on to Kells, though the soldier shrugged and said he could not feel a difference from the healing. "Not tired enough yet, I suppose," the witch said, as she stepped back from him.

When Elyse put her hands to his face, Martim felt a slow warmth seep through his tired limbs, leaving them tingling, leeching away some of the fatigue. But that was not all the witch did. Glancing towards Kells and Aela, who were busily stretching their limbs, Elyse stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. "Do you feel it, Martim?"

Martimeos shook his arms and stamped his feet. "A bit, yes. I think it will be enough to keep me going for a while."

"Not the healing," she responded quietly. Her dark blue eyes darted once more towards Kells and Aela, and then met his once more. "Close your eyes and concentrate," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Can you feel it...?"

Frowning, Martim did as she asked, closing his eyes and shutting out the snow-covered world around him. The sound of Aela and Kells' conversation sank away, and the pain in his aching limbs was no longer so much of a distraction. And as he concentrated in the empty dark behind his eyes, he felt....something. Something faint, but unmistakably there. Like the night they had first entered the mountain, it was a sensation that something was wrong with the world, something crooked. Like the forest, the entire mountain, was slightly off-kilter. He opened his eyes once more to find Elyse staring at him, biting her lip. "When did you first start feeling this?" he asked quietly.

"Not so long ago," she answered, still keeping her voice low. "'Tis faint, and I did not want to cause a panic, but...'tis the feeling of an Outsider, not so far off. One truly not meant to be here." Then, in an even quieter voice, she added, "I think we need to get to shelter. As quickly as is possible."

Martimeos was silent for a moment, simply staring at her. "Aela," he called, not taking his eyes off of Elyse, "How much further do we have to go?"

Aela, who had been discussing with Kells about what types of drink the Crosscraw might have, glanced up. "Ah think the hardest part of the haul es behind us," she answered. Pointing off above the trees, she gestured towards a rocky peak that those up into the sky; broad and snow-covered, with dark rocky outcroppings breaking through the white blanketing it. They were close enough that Martim could see what looked like a few manmade structures dotting the peak, boulders carved square and regular and unnatural, though not close enough that he could tell what they were. "There lies Dun Cairn, where mah clan an' others make their home."

"Why don't we move quickly," Martimeos said softly, still holding Elyse's gaze with his, "And just get this over with. Before the cold settles into our blood from rest."

Aela groaned, and Kells looked at him curiously, but they both took up their ropes, tying them around their chests once more.

This time, as they set out, it was Martim who pulled them along the quickest, his rope binding him to the moose carcass ever-taut against his chest, unfeeling of the gentle snowfall that now piled up in his hair and on his shoulders. That feeling of crookedness did not go away, as they made their way through the pines, each trunk casting shadows that seemed darker and darker across their path. Indeed, it only seemed to get worse. The trees seemed to bend and stretch strangely, looming over him at odd angles. If he looked too closely at their bark, their branches, their tangled roots, faces seemed to leap out at him, hidden there among the shadows of the forest, though he would blink and they'd be gone.

A dim and dark fear began to burn in his mind, flooding his blood with panic, and he tugged and pulled at the remains of the moose, terror-given strength coursing through him, no longer feeling the exhaustion in his limbs. Flit coursed on ahead, bright red against the gray sky and the snow, flying high to keep a watchful eye out for anything that may lie in their path. And Cecil padded through the snow in short, jerky bursts, his gray-striped fur standing on end, tail twitching nervously, yellow eyes always peering through the trees.

Though he and Elyse may have been more sensitive to it, perhaps because of the Art, it was not long before Aela and Kells noticed something was amiss, as well. "I have the worst, splitting headache," the soldier muttered, wincing, as he struck forth in the snow with his spear, pulling himself along. His gray eyes flicked towards Martimeos, full of concern. "Much like when I first entered the mountain," he said quietly.

"Aye, an' Ah feel sick." Aela tugged at the rope binding her to the moose, pulling it towards her with a groan, as the carcass, now matted slick with ice and snow in its fur, slid along the ground. "An...the forest...somethin' ent right. Ah dinnae ken what..." Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she looked towards Martimeos and Elyse. "D'ye...Ah dinnae wantae abandon the moose, but..."

"Just keep moving," Martimeos replied grimly. And then, softly, "Whatever it is, I do not think it is close by, not yet."

They all stepped quicker now, tugging at the moose with all their might, and even Elyse threw herself into it, pushing her shoulder against its bulk to keep them moving fast. Mercifully, the slope of the land soon broke, and they crested a small hill that dipped down into a valley, a long forest of pines stretching out before them, leading up to the peak that was their destination. Pulling the moose was much easier now, and at times they even had to race to keep ahead of it, as it slid down the side of the hill.

But even still the feeling of wrongness did not abate. Like a heartbeat, it pulsed through them as they panted and gasped, dragging the moose through the trees, branches clawing at them, through shadows that seemed black as night, through snow that seemed the wrong color, past boulders that felt as if they claimed strange and unnatural shapes, and though the forest was actually quiet except for the sounds of their struggle, it seemed as if whispers followed them through the branches and trees, as if the creaking of the trees spoke to them in strange tongues, and the fear and panic welled up, more and more, a great ball of black tar in their minds, until -

With a shriek, Aela drew a stone dagger from somewhere within her furs and severed the cord tying her to the moose. "Ah cannae take et!" she cried, leaping forward to cut Martimeos and Kells free as well. "We haftae run, abandon it, 'tis not worth-"

"Wait," Martimeos said, between desperate, ragged breaths. his long, shaggy hair clumped with frozen sweat and snowfall, holding up a hand to pause her. "Wait. It's...."

"It's gone," Elyse said, wonderingly.

They all paused for a moment, looking at the forest that surrounded them, silent and almost tranquil beneath the quiet snowfall. It was true. Whatever that feeling of wrongness had been, it was abruptly, without warning, simply gone. The shadows of the forest no longer seemed to reach out toward them. No whispers floated to them over the wind. The pines around them were just a normal forest, if bitterly cold. And while the fear they had felt lingered in their minds, no longer did it overwhelm them. Just the bitter aftertaste, the echoes of panic and terror.

Kells adjusted his ketle-helm, which had fallen down over his eyes as they ran, tightening the buckle beneath his chin. He tapped his spear anxiously against the metal of his breastplate as he glanced around. "My headache's gone too," he said quietly. "Felt like I had been drinking for two days straight, and now gone, just like that. What in the blazing hells is going on?"

"Ah..." Aela looked around, up into the sky, to the gray peak there looming before them. It was close enough now that they could see figures carved into the cliffsides and rocks that broke out from beneath the snow along it, great weatheworn statues nearly twenty feet tall, too faded with time to tell anything other than they had once depicted something man-shaped. Other carvings dotted the cliffs as well, grand arches of stone as smooth and worn as the statues, marking entrances into the earth. "Ah...suppose...mebbe we are close enough now tha' perhaps Grizel's Art protects us from...whatever tha' was."

"That must have been the Bogge-King we felt, did it not?" Frowning, Elyse plucked moose fur from her dark robes, flicking it away into the snow. "What else could it have been? Will it come back?"

"Ah...dinnae ken fir certain," Aela replied, sheathing her stone dagger somewhere beneath the furs that wrapped her and tugging at her hair. "Even before th' bogge-men came, strange things lived on th' mountain. An' Ah hae never seen th' Bogge-King." She shivered. "Ah hope Ah never do."

Just then, Flit came fluttering down through the trees, perching on Martim's shoulder, twittering furiously into his ear. "Flit says he's spotted more Crosscraw up ahead," Martimeos said, translating for the rest of them. "Six, and armed."

"A welcomin' party," Aela muttered, picking up her severed rope and tossing it over her shoulder. "Well, 'tis good tae hear. Let us make haste tae meet them. Ah dinnae trust that we're outta th' thickets yet."

They moved forward through the woods once more. Despite wanting to be out of these woods quickly, however, Martimeos found that he could only move his body so fast. Fear may have lingered, but now that the panic had left him, the exhaustion in his limbs came roaring back, and twice as worse. It seemed every inch of him ached, and even Elyse's healing could offer only slight relief. The fatigue was bad enough to make him feel feverish, unsteady, unmoored from his body, full of a strange and throbbing heat even as the snow piled up on his shoulders and his sweat froze to his skin. He could not wait to be able to just lie down and sleep. Never again, he thought, would he haul a moose this far through the woods, not even half of one. They had spent all day at this - even with the cloud-covered sky, he could tell that it was nearly dusk - but it felt like it had been half a week. It was Kells who provided much of the strength for the pulling, now, the soldier's endurance apparently endless.

Fortunately, they did not have much further to walk. It was not long before they were stopped on the trail by a sharp, high whistle, and out from behind the pine trees that surrounded them stalked six Crosscraw women, all armed with short hunting bows, arrows nocked but not yet drawn back. Martimeos was impressed; despite being forewarned of their presence, nobody had managed to spot them. These Crosscraw were dressed in heavy furs and hides, similar to Aela's, but he could tell from their faces that they ranged in age. Most appeared to be a good deal older than he, though the youngest, he thought, looked barely old enough to carry a bow at all, while the oldest had gray strands in her hair, framing a harsh face with green eyes narrowed in suspicion, her red locks so long that they nearly swept the snow by her feet.

"Marsail!" Aela cried, dropping her rope, and rushing forward to embrace the eldest woman. "Ah thought ye might be dead!"

The elder Crosscraw's face softened as Aela hugged her tightly, lowering her bow. "Ah thought th' same fir ye, lass," she replied, a smal grin cracking her features, "But Ah haftae say, Ah didnae expect ye tae return wit a moose....well, half o' one, et looks like...and some lowlanders, queensmen among them. Where is Sorcha? Did ye see her?"

Aela broke off from the embrace, stepping back, wringing her hands and staring at the ground. "Ah'm...sorry tae tell ye, but Sorcha es dead."

There was a sharp, collective gasp among the Crosscraw women, and Marsail grimaced, spitting into the snow with a curse. "Did ye see how?" she asked quietly. "We will...nae find her wanderin' an headless, will we?"

"Ah didnae see et mahself, but these lowlanders said they found her nailed tae a tree." Aela tugged at her hair as Marsail's face hardened once again. "What? What es et?"

Martimeos watched curiously, shivering, stamping in the snow, as the elder Crosscraw woman drew Aela aside to whisper furiously to her. The other five Crosscraw women remained staring at them, bows still drawn, green eyes all narrowed and suspicious, with especially hard stares for Kells and Elyse. "I get the feeling," Kells said quietly, as he tightened his grip on his spear, "our welcome is not going to be as warm as Aela thought it might be."

Martimeos sighed as he untied the rope from around his chest, his arms so sore that he could barely life them, especially his injured one. "If they're about to tell me I dragged this moose for miles all for nothing, I might just join up with the bogge-men myself," he muttered. On his shoulder, Flit chirped something dark about making a nest in their skulls.

"If Aela made a false promise..." Elyse hissed. Eyes flashing, she patted the short sword she kept buckled at her side. "This is going straight up her-"

"Lily! Ailise! Caen!" Three of the Crosscraw women jumped as Marsail, breaking off from her argument, shouted their names. The elder Crosscraw woman looked stern, her mouth a thin grim line, while Aela looked miserable and forlorn, face red, looking down at the ground. "You three get going on dragging the meat back."

Martimeos watched, disconsolate, as the three younger Crosscraw slung their bows across their back, took up the bindings on the moose carcass, and hauled it off, quickly disappearing among the trees. Their two remaining guards still kept their hands on their bows, and in the meanwhile, it did not look like Aela was having a winning argument. Marsail just kept on shaking her head, her gray-streaked red mane bouncing wildly around her, while Aela herself stamped her feet, looking almost on the verge of tears. He grimaced, looking up at the snow falling from the sky. He had really been looking forward to somewhere warm and safe to sleep after all this. There was a dark part of him that whispered, well, what did you expect? They're Crosscraw, they come from the same folk that burnt down Pike's Green. Did you think people like that would have any honor?

"Look here," he snapped finally, the anger in his voice ringing out clear through the wood. Marsail and Aela both glanced at him in surprise, their eyes widening, while the two other Crosscraw women raised their bows threateningly, but Martimeos had had enough. "We helped drag that moose back under the promise that we would be allowed to see Grizel," he growled, dark green eyes smouldering. "Were we lied to? Is our payment to be nothing?"

Marsail pursed her lips, the elder Crosscraw woman narrowing her eyes as she answered him. "Ah dinnae ken what yer payment will be, lowlander. Ah wouldnae be so cruel as tae leave ye wit' nothing. But Aela shouldnae hae gone makin' promises she couldnae keep. Ah still dinnae ken tae trust ye-"

"Daft!" Aela shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. "Ah tell ye, Ah watched yon wizard an witch light a bogge-man aflame! Oh yes," she called to the other two Crosscraw women, when they flinched in shock upon hearing this. "Did ye ken that Marsail here es havin ye refuse a wizard and a witch? Who were promised entry? Who paid fir it with sweat and th' Art, even? How's that fir unlucky?"

The two Crosscraw guards looked distinctly uncomfortable with this, shuffling their feet and lowering their bows, stealing cautious glances at Kells, Martimeos and Elyse. "Marsail...." one of them mumbled reluctantly.

"Nae!" The older Crosscraw woman had gone red-faced with rage, now, a vein throbbing on her forehead as she stepped away from Aela and jabbed a finger towards them. "They're lowlanders - queensmen, no less! Ah willnae let them intae Dun Cairn! Ah dinnae care what they hae helped wit, 'tis nae where they belong! 'Tis on Aela's head fir breakin a promise tae a witch an' a wizard, nae mine! Ah would never hae agreed, Ah...Ah...."

Suddenly, Marsail staggered back, her eyes going loose and unfocused. A small trail of dark blood trickled down her nose, running over her lips to drip down from her chin. She put a hand to her face, wiping the blood with a finger, then stared at it, green eyes confused. "What....?" she mumbled, nearly tripping over her own feet.

But Martimeos barely paid any attention to her. The feeling from before, the feeling of wrongness, had returned, and all at once, was stronger than ever before. And something truly was wrong. The shadows of the trees spun, rotating around on the ground, as if the sun was spinning in the sky. They grew darker, longer, more black than shadows had a right to be. And between all the flickering shadows, the world was...it was as if it were losing color. The dark green of pine needles faded to a sickly gray. He watched as the Crosscraw women dropped their bows, clutching their heads, and their fiery red hair faded, becoming duller and duller.

He did not have to tell Elyse and Kells to run; they were already moving. Kells had a hand clutched to his face, his gray eyes wincing in pain as he stifled his own nosebleed, while Elyse's eyes were wide with terror, standing out bright against the shadows dancing across her face. Her dark blue eyes. The only thing he could see that was not losing color.

A strange noise, halfway between the roar of some humongous, awful animal, and the keening blast of a trumpet, tore through the forest, tore through his skull, reverberating somewhere in his head, blurring his vision, making the world itself bend and blur. "Ancestors preserve us!" he heard one of the Crosscraw women cry, from somewhere behind him, as he stumbled, staggered forward through the madness. The other just screamed, a howl so full of terror that it barely seemed human anymore, so raw and loud that he thought it must have torn out her throat.

For all the dancing, pitch-black shadows, Martim could now barely see at all. The world came to him in flickers, short flashes. He felt a firm hand grab his own, tugging him forward, and saw, for the briefest of moments, that it belonged to Kells, the lower half of the soldier's face covered in black blood flowing from his nose, his kettle-helm askew on his head, struggling forward, ever-forward. In another flash, he saw Aela, staring wide-eyed at something behind him, her face a mask of horror, as Elyse struggled to push the Crosscraw woman, to get her to flee. Martim reached out and seize Aela by her furs, dragging her along.

They did not, however, get very far. A great, strange ripping sound echoed from somewhere behind him, like some thick fabric being torn through. And suddenly, Martimeos thought he was dead.

It felt as if his body did not belong to him, did not belong to anyone; it felt as if it was numb, and cold, and it was...wrong that he was in it. That his soul would vacate it at any moment, fling everything he was into an eternal black nothing. And the terror of that was so strong that he collapsed, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps.

He was only vaguely aware of the cold of the snow as he sank into it. Off to his right, he could see Kells on his hands and knees, the soldier vomiting something black - blood? Martim didn't know, everything was black and white now. Somewhere - he didn't know where - he could hear Elyse whimpering, calling to her father fro help. He struggled to cling to his sanity, to hold on to the small part of his mind that said - this isn't real - you aren't dead - your body is your own. He fought to raise himself up on numb, dead arms - No! My arms! My arms, and living, not dead! Hauling himself partway out of the snow, he looked back, back the way they had come.

And there, through a thin line of trees, standing over Marsail and the other two Crosscraw women, stood the Bogge-King. It could be nothing else.

It stood tall, towering over the Crosscraw, but it was difficult to say just how tall it was. For there was simply no depth to it. The other bogge-men might wear dread black cloaks, but their King - it was as if the world was a painting, and someone had spilled black ink on it. He could not even say, really, whether the Bogge-King wore anything at all, or if all that darkness was simply part of its body. All he could say was that it was tall, and broad, a man-shaped black stain on the world.

And in the midst of all that darkness, looking almost like it was floating, was the skull of a massive aurochs, cracked and bleached-white and ancient. Unlike the other bogge-men, no lights blazed in those eye sockets. Simply more of that darkness, bubbling over, running out down the cheekbones like pitch. It stepped - or did it float? - forward, and as it moved, a ripping sound tore through the air. Raising its skull to the sky, the jawbone slowly creaked open.

And then, the Bogge-King crooned.

It was like dozens of mournful, ghostly voices, all of them letting out a long, slow wail, all at once. It seemed almost...familiar, to Martim. He did not know where me might have hear something like this before, but....somewhere....

While the crooning lingered in his soul, however, it had a much more dramatic effect on the Crosscraw. Marsail, who had lain, paralyzed with fear on the ground by the Bogge-King's...feet? If indeed that mass of darkness had feet - got to her knees, her eyes wild and mad. "Yes," he heard her cry, as she knelt in the snow, tearing her hides and furs away from her frantically, exposing her long, pale neck. "Do et. Do et, oh please, do et, kill me, kill me, kill meeeeeeeee...."

The Bogge-King reached down with one long, too-thin arm, spindly fingers gently caressing Marsail's neck. Too many joints, a thought flitted wildly through Martim's mind. That arm has too many joints. It must have two elbows to bend like that. Marsail sobbed with happiness as, from somewhere within its darkness, the Bogge-King drew a long black blade. It would have taken two hand for a normal man to wield a blade like that; in the hands of this creature, it looked almost like a toy.

How can I help her?, Martimeos had time to fleetingly think, before the Bogge-King swung and Marsail's head tumbled from her shoulders. Her body had not yet toppled over in the snow when the Bogge-King turned its attentions to the other two Crosscraw women that had been their guards. I can't. I can't help any of them, and they're all going to die. I'm going to die. I'm already dead.

It was Flit, flapping about his head, twittering madly, that bough some sense back to Martimeos. Whatever madness the Bogge-King induced, it seemed, it did not have any effect on the tiny cardinal. Flit shrieked at him to get to his feet, to stop being a fool, to run, run for his life, even going so far as to perch on Martim's shoulder and peck him sharply on the face. And the tweeting, and the sharp jab of pain, broke through the veil of numbness. How could he feel pain, after all, if he was already dead? Why would Flit bother talking to him, if he was dead?

Martimeos lurched to his feet, the world seeming to spin around him as the shadows danced and flickered. He did his best to shut the noise out of his mind as, through the trees behind him, the Bogge-King began to croon again. He staggered forward, struggling to put one numb foot in front of the other, through the snow.

He found Elyse, first, the witch sitting curled around Cecil in the snow, her dark blue eyes now the only color left in the world. Her familiar was hissing at her, digging his claws into her arms, trying to get his witch to move, to flee for her life, but Elyse seemed almost unfeeling to it, barely flinching, eyes pinned, looking in the direction where the Bogge-King lay. From that direction, Martimeos heard another distinctive thwack. "It's so much worse," Elyse murmured, staring, unable to take her eyes away. "It's so much worse than I dreamt it would be."

Summoning what strength he could find to his limbs, Martimeos seized her by the shoulders, and shook her, shook her until she finally tore her eyes away from the Bogge-King and looked at him. "Have...to run," he breathed raggedly at her. Her eyes still seemed unfocused, so he shook her again. "Elyse!"

Finally, she seemed to come back to herself. She glanced down, at Cecil in her arms, and released hiim, unsteadily rising to her feet. "I feel like a corpse, Martim," she whispered. "Am I...?"

"No," he snarled, ignoring the part of his mind that howled that yes she was, and he was too. "We have to go." The witch nodded, still seeming uncertain, and followed beside him.

As he turned, Martimeos was surprised to find that Kells was already on his feet. The lower half of the soldier's face was caked black with blood, streaking down his breastplate as well, and his eyes were a little focused, his legs a little unsteady. But other than that, Kells gripped his spear tightly, wincing a bit as behind them, the Bogge-King began to croon once more, singing to the remaining Crosscraw woman, ghostly wails echoing out across the mountainside. "Don't think I'll ever sleep proper again after hearing that," he muttered, but he seemed oddly, otherwise, fine.

If it were any other time, Martimeos might have been curious about this. But now..."Where's Aela?" he whispered furiously.

Kells looked around, and then his eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. "Boiling bloody hells," he cursed.

Martimeos looked. There, through the trees, its back towards them, jawbone skull stretching upwards, the Bogge-King crooned, raising its long, spindly arms to the sky as it did so, as all around it the shadows danced, and the very trees themselves bent away from it, as if wishing to flee, singing its dirge to the last of Marsail's Crosscraw band.

And there, staggering towards it, slowly, as if hypnotized, was Aela.

Martimeos and Kells both dashed towards her as quickly as they dared, fear coursing through them with each footstep in the snow, wondering if it would draw the Bogge-King's attention towards them. The soldier reached Aela first, grabbing her by the wrist and roughly yanking her backwards, nearly toppling her over. Aela whirled towards them, outrage written clearly across her pale white face, her giery red hair now gray and drained in this now-colorless world. "What're you doing?" she hissed at them furiously, trying to yank her arm free.

"What are you doing?" Kells snapped back at her, the Bogge-King's crooning nearly drowning him out. "Are you mad?" As the Crosscraw woman continued to struggle, Kells frowned and pulled her close, pinning her arms behind her.

But that only sent Aela into a frenzy. She shrieked and kicked, screaming, as Kells held her. "Let me go! Let me go, ye daft fool, don't ye see? Ah haftae die! Ah must, let me go, AH NEED TAE DIE!"

Too late, Kells clapped a hand over Aela's mouth, muffling her. But the Bogge-King's haunting wails had already abruptly stopped. And Martimeos lifted his eyes to find that it was staring directly at them, through the trees, those dark, empty eye sockets like endless pits. No, he realized. Not staring at them. Staring directly at him. "Run," he whispered.

Dimly, he heard Elyse scream in the distance as the Bogge-King flowed forth towards them like a river of shadow, the horns of its auroch skull lowered, almost as if it were charging. He was only vaguely aware of the sounds of Kells struggling to drag Aela away. There was no mistaking it; the Bogge-King was charging directly at him, a great ripping, tearing sound shrieking through the air as it did so. The edges of it boiled and crackled as it moved, each step thunderous enough to shake the ground.

Martimeos willed his legs to move, and he ran, but the Bogge-King nimbly changed course to follow him. He was going to die, he thought. Somewhere above him, he heard Flit twittering madly, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the Bogge-King's footsteps and the crackling, tearing sound of its movement. He had only made it a few steps before the Bogge-King was upon him, and he was swallowed by darkness.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable feeling of a blade cutting through his neck. It would have almost been a relief. The sense of being already dead, that his body was a corpse he was somehow trapped in, was overwhelming and maddening, throbbing through him like a heartbeat. True death would be a relief from this insanity, this suffocating sensation of being a prisoner within his own corpse. He wanted to die, he realized, and wondered whether this was what Aela had felt, what Marsail had felt. But...

Moments passed. And then moments more. And still, no strike came.

And in fact, the feeling of being dead slowly drained from him, his panic-maddened mind calming, the feeling of needing to die leaving him. Curiously, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

He was lying down, with his back in the snow; the Bogge-King still stood above him, nearly filling his entire vision with inky blackness. But it had not struck him, indeed, it had not even seized him or touched him at all. It merely stood above him, towering, filling up the sky, staring at him silently, that auroch skull floating in a dead black void. It really was gigantic, Martimeos realized. Each of the horns on the skull was nearly as big as his leg. It could have gored him, easily; or beheaded him, or tore him limb from limb. And yet, the Bogge-King did nothing. It simply stared.

Until it spoke. Haltingly, unsure, as if it had not spoken in a long, long time. In a voice that seemed like wind howling through a cave, it spoke.

"Mar..tim..meos," it murmured, its voice almost gentle.

Martimeos felt his blood freeze. This daemon, this thing, knew his name. He scrambled backwards in the snow, feeling Flit alight on his shoulder as he did so, keeping his eyes pinned upon the Bogge-King. Feeling foolish, he fumbled for his sword. He didn't know what was going on, but if this monstrous creature was giving him a chance to fight and live, he was going to take it. As he chanced a glance towards Flit, he realized that his familiar was red. Color had returned to the world, it seemed.

In fact, he thought wonderingly, as he struggled to his feet, it was strange how tranquil the world had become once more. Mere moments ago, all had seemed madness and horror, spinning shadows and drained color. And yet now...the forest seemed almost normal. Peaceful, even, snowcapped pine trees stretching up into the sky, their branches slowly becoming more burdened beneath a quiet, steady snow. The shadows no longer danced madly. If it were not for the man-shaped, looming shadow before him, he would have felt eerily at ease.

The Bogge-King shifted, as Martimeos held his sword up to it, the air around it crackling and snapping. "Y...y....you...know...me," it said, struggling to form the words, still making no move whatsoever for him.

And suddenly, Martimeos felt a great ball of dread in the pit of his stomach. No, he thought, please no. Please don't let it be true. "How do I know you?" he murmured.

The Bogge-King did not answer. Not in words, anyway. Instead, Martimeos watched as the aurochs skull opened its jaw, yawning wider and wider, creaking and scraping, bones and flat square teeth almost seeming like a small cave into that endless, featureless black. And then, from out of that darkness, a face swam into view.

It was stretched and deformed almost beyond being recognizable as human. The skin was rough and lumpy, and pulled taught against bone. Far, far too long, as if the skull beneath had been stretched, and the skin had not quite caught up with it, leaving the mouth open in a perpetual grimace, with wide gaps between the teeth. All trace of hair had disappeared from a head that swelled wide over the ears, and a nose that looked broad and squashed.

Martimeos would have never recognized who it was, if it were not for those eyes. Those clear, sky-blue eyes.

"Hadley...?" he whispered. His heart felt like it might twist in two. "Hadley, what has happened to you...?"

The aurochs skull slammed shut, the face once more disappearing into darkness. But still the Bogge-King made no move for him. It simply stood there, frozen, a looming black stain on the snow, eye sockets dripping rivulets of darkness over bleached and whitened bone.

And with only a moment's pause, Martimeos turned and fled, willing his legs to carry him as fast as he could force them to. He glanced back only once, but the Bogge-King was not following him. It simply watched, staring.