Lane played absentmindedly with the lace-hemline of her dress, which fell over the back of her hands almost down to her fingers, as was the fashion this winter. Lady Theresa across the table was babbling about the arrangement of the flower piece between them, and Lane tried her best to look interested. Neither of them gave a damn about the stupid flowers, but as long as Theresa’s family was sitting all around them, they had to pretend. Especially Theresa’s mother, baroness Charlene deCauchy, was keeping an eagle eye on her oldest daughter, to ensure that Theresa didn’t embarrass the family in the presence of a countess.

Lane hated acting according to her rank, but if it wasn’t for the title she had inherited from her mother, she would never be allowed to set foot inside the baroness’s house, let alone ride out with her eldest. As a mother of five daughters, who all needed to find a suitable husband, Charlene was most careful not to let any scandal taint the name deCauchy. So whenever Lane came over, she played the countess with as much refinement as she could muster. At least until lunch was over.

Finally, baron deCauchy pushed back his chair, officially ending the meal. Lane and Theresa put on coats, hats, and mittens over their dresses, and allowed footmen to help them onto their horses. And then they were off into the sun that was glaring at the snow-covered fields, as fast as they could.

“Frolicking like young foals,” the baroness always said, but in her eyes, a nice long ride around the barony with another woman of rank was a suitable pastime for a lady such as Theresa, so they were left alone.

“You’ve got a new horse,” Theresa asked, once they were out of sight from the house. “What happened to that beautiful grey stallion you had?”

Lane grimaced, and turned the little roan mare around, towards the forest. “Rode him to death,” she admitted.

“How could you!” Theresa shrieked. “Such a loyal soul! What happened?”

“I was on a trail, pushed him too hard. Up in the mountains towards Clyde’s Pass,” Lane explained. “We got caught in a snowstorm.”

“How did you get out?” Theresa asked.

Lane smiled wryly. “That, you’ll have to see to believe,” she said.

Theresa tried to get more out of her and didn’t seem to notice where they were going. Only when the shadows of the first trees fell onto them, did she stop her horse.

“We can’t go into the forest,” she said. “The sun will be too low in half an hour.”

“Half an hour is all I need,” Lane assured her, and after a long moment of hesitation, Theresa rode in after her, but asked:

“What if the Rot is about? We brought no protection, or did you?”

“There’s no Rot,” Lane said. “It was here, but look over there.”

She pointed at a fallen Rot-beast.

Theresa clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream at the sight of the husk. “Is it – it’s dead? How?”

Lane reined in her horse and got out of the saddle. She walked over to the Rot-creature, torn apart by Morgulon, and gave it a good kick.

“Very much dead,” she said.

Theresa looked around. “There are so many of them,” she noted after a moment and dropped to the ground next to Lane. She took off one mitten and very, very carefully touched the gnarled wood that had probably formed one of the legs.

Which was a lot braver than Lane had expected her to be. Mr. Alby had run away after he had found one of the husks, all the way to the pub, and wouldn’t talk about what he had seen for days.

Theresa looked around. Under a thin coating of snow, there were at least a dozen broken Rot-creatures scattered around. Lane smiled at Morgulon’s work.

“What happened here?” Theresa wanted to know.

“Do you trust me?” Lane asked.

“Of course.”

“Right. Hold onto the reins,” Lane said, and then whistled sharply.

“Don’t tell me these – these things were destroyed by a man,” Theresa said, while they waited.

“No,” Lane said. “This is Morgulon. She saved my life in the mountains.”

The werewolf had come from downwind, so the horses didn’t notice her before Lane did. Theresa jumped when her gelding bucked and tried to run. When she saw Morgulon, she almost let him go in shock.

“It’s all right,” Lane said. “She won’t harm you.”

This was addressed to both Morgulon and Theresa.

“Trust me, she’s as nervous about you as you about her.”

Theresa had already reined herself in and was doing a good job of calming down her horse, too. “Are you talking to me, or that – that werewolf?” she asked.

Morgulon had stopped about thirty feet away from them and pranced as nervously as the horses.

Lane smiled. “Both,” she said.

This was what she liked about Theresa. She looked fragile as a flower, and at court, she could play the damsel in distress with the best of them, but she had nerves of steel when it came down to it.

“It’s okay, Morgulon,” Lane said. “We talked about this, remember? Theresa is a friend.”

“Morgulon,” Theresa repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.”

Morgulon was finally moving, giving Theresa a wide berth as she walked over to Lane. There, the werewolf bumped her head into her chest, almost knocking her over, and then began sniffing her pockets for food.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lane smiled and pulled out some bread. Theresa watched on, as Lane fed the werewolf.

“Werewolves can destroy the Rot,” the young lady asked after a moment. “Or just this one?”

“They all can,” Lane said. “But she’s better at it than the others.”

“But then – why have you been hunting them? Why isn’t there a werewolf in every forest of Loegrion? Just think of what a beautiful land this could be!”

“I had no idea what they can do,” Lane said. “I only found out late last fall. The men who built the railway for Duke George Louis made this discovery. Now the duke wants us to find more werewolves for him.”

“Who is us?” Theresa asked. “I need the whole story, Lane.”

“The Feleke family and I,” Lane said. And she told her friend about Greg Feleke, and what little she knew of his time with the railway, and everything that had happened since the duke had sent her out to catch a werewolf alive.

Morgulon sank down on the ground, head resting on her paws, looking half asleep.

“What now?” Theresa asked when Lane finished.

“That’ll depend on the duke,” Lane said. “Or maybe I can find another sane werewolf. Then perhaps Morgulon can stay and protect the forests around here.”

“That would be nice,” Theresa said. “But what about full moon? And what if the Church finds out?”

“Stay out of the forest on full moon,” Lane said. “And if the Church finds out, I’m screwed.”

“Right,” Theresa muttered. “So they can’t find out. Can you find a way to clear these – these bodies?”

Lane looked down at Morgulon, who wagged her tail idly.

“Are you still helping with the Salvation Effort?” Lane asked.

“The soup kitchen? Sure.”

“If you come across anyone, with, let’s say yellow eyes,” Lane said. “Send them to the Lackland Railway Company in Eoforwic. Make sure to tell them to use the New Gate leading into the new city.”

Theresa nodded. “I was beginning to wonder why you risked telling me about all this,” she said. “Sure, I’ll keep an eye out. We don’t get nearly as many takers as we used to, though, these days. Since the High Inquisitor is back, people are wary even about the salvation effort.”

That wasn’t surprising. The Salvation Effort might be the more gentle, charitable arm of the Church, but part of the Church nonetheless.

“If I have to leave in a hurry, can you make sure Morgulon gets some food?”, Lane asked. That was the reason why she had decided to tell Theresa what had happened.

“She doesn’t hunt for herself?”

“Oh, she does,” Lane said. “But it takes a lot to keep a werewolf fed. And I’d like to make sure she doesn’t go hungry.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Theresa promised. “You’ll send a message if you need to leave?”

Lane nodded.