The "Maiden House" wasn't so much a separate building as it was an addon to the inn itself, a discovery that brought Katarina a mild sense of impatience.

In other villages, a "Maiden House" was built similarly to an inn, but wholly and completely separate. As the name implied it was only for the unwed, the virginal women. In some ways it was a dormitory; larger and more complicated families would often send a few of their women to live in the Maiden's House to avoid any familial "mishaps"; in others it was simply the place where unmarried women met, traded stories and gossip, worked on any number of personal projects like embroidery or quilting, and bathed, and it was usually run by grandmothers or spinsters; women who had, for some reason or another, abandoned the idea of marriage and children. In many places, an unmarried woman might also spend her menses at the Maiden House for various cultural taboos or cleanliness rituals. This villages' "Maiden House" was simply another dining room, a collection of sleeping rooms, and a seperate bathing facility.

Regardless of city size, bathing was always a communal affair. The Goddess ruled on cleanliness, but the Church demanded it, the hidden reason being that someone afflicted with mutation or illness would not be able to conceal it in the baths of the community.

Bathing at an Inn was usually a very raucous affair, with bawdy jokes and gossip. Hands weren't the only things free in a bath, either. All sorts of things could happen in a bath.

Not that a Maiden's House was any less rowdy. There were the usual cliques and gossips and the pillowing between them as they shared hopes, dreams, and fears. It just wasn't likely that an unwed woman or even a girl just past her menses but not yet an adult would grow an embarrassing baby bump and be wholly incapable of telling the father without clerical assistance in a Maiden House.

The Matron of the Maiden House was the wife of the innkeeper, an indifferently plump woman with graying hair and a careworn face. She was more than happy to take Katarina's coppers, provide her a bedroom and the promise of meals. She gave Katarina's sword a cursory look of disdain that spoke more of indifference and confusion than any actual dislike. An axe was practical, a tool to be used in the forest. A sling, a spear, a bow or even nets and darts were useful for hunting. What use was a sword?

She gave an indifferent shrug when Katarina asked about a meal; the food she'd just eaten had awoken a fierce appetite in the Witch Hunter; the kind that only woke after long days spent on the trail, resting and eating little.

"Beakfast'll be served in a couple hour." she advised and to the hall, and Katarina followed the Matron after carefully picking up Mystia from the bench.

"I'll put ye up on the second floor, last room on th' right." The Matron remarked as they ascended the stairs.

"A bath?" She asked hopefully, and the woman chuckled deeply. "Aye, ayup. First floor, on the lef'. The bathing room is deserted this time o' day. Ya sure ya can light the stove yerself?" She asked and Katarina nodded. "I can tend to myself." She replied, and the Matron brightened.

"That's a relief, then." She said companionably. "Not atall like the other'n."

"Other'n?" Katarina asked politely as the woman opened the door to her room.

"Ah, ayup. A right fine highborn Lady. Beggin yer pardon but she's a right bossy one. Always demandin' this, that'n the other." She fixed the Witch Hunter with a glance. "Might could be you look into her."

Katarina nodded; she'd already agreed to with the woman's husband.

"A Lady?" Katarina asked skeptically, matching mannerisms. "Here?"

The innkeeper's wife shrugged. "Aye. All dressed up in silks. Carried a sword onner back, too. Tall as she was, it was." Katarina gave her what she hoped was an appropriately baffled look.

Katarina lay Mystia on the narrow bed and set her saddlebags and knapsack on the floor at the foot. A bath first, she decided. But first... She turned to the other woman. "I have a set of bronze knives I could trade you for the stay, or if you want coin, I have some Urthan and Anglish." She offered, but she shook her head.

"Nay. t'would be too much." She replied, hands raised placatingly. "'sides, I saw yer symbol. 'twould be no bother 'tall to put you up. We're Goddess' folk here in Higgenfal, and we follow Her word."

Katarina bowed her head respectfully. "I appreciate it." She said with heartfelt gratitude.

The Matron eyed her carefully, and repeated herself. "We're Goddess' folk here in Higgenfal, and we follow Her word." she emphasised carefully. "There ain't be no witches here, Lady." she warned.

Of course he'd tell his wife. Of course that led to everything else. Of course he'd tell his stablemen. Of course they'd tell their families. In a town this small it wouldn't be two days before the panic came. At best she'd have to leave the town as fast as her horse could run, at worst she would be strung up alongside Mystia, the mysterious 'lady' everyone was so worried about, and anyone else the village could trot out as being "suspicious". Strung up to hang, strapped to a pyre to be burned alive, or hung from the neck... or however else their panic decided they needed to destroy the object of their hate and fear.

Katarina nodded at that in agreement. "I'm just here to rest up and then I'll be on my way." She repeated for what seemed the thousandth time. "I've no desire to stir up any trouble."

The woman gave her a long and considering look and finally let out a short sigh of relief.

"That's all good, then. I won't be billin' ye for the cost of bed 'n' board, then." She decided, patting her graying curls. "Though truth be told it's th' rainy season." she advised, a note of concern entering her voice. "Storms like this kin last days. Mayhap weeks. I kin put you up fer a few days... so long as yer not cuttin' a ruckus with th' folks here."

Katarina nodded, and then touched the older woman's arm briefly. "I'd like to ask a small favor." She began as the matron glanced down at her hand and then back up at her face. She gave the Witch Hunter a suspicious look.

"II don't want to cause strife. I just wanna wait out the rain and head down the road when it lets up. If you could, don't tell anyone that I'm a..." She paused, and said it anyway If there were gossips at the eves and windows, if the innkeeper had decided to tell everyone, not just his wife, then it was already too late.

"Witch Hunter."

The Matron's frown deepened at this. "Why should I do that?" She rumbled truculently.

"Think." Katarina encouraged. "I know the kind of problems that spring up when a Witch Hunter is in town. It can turn brother against brother. Friend against friend. I don't want that." She repeated. "If you have to tell, I suppose there's no helping it, but if I could ask for a favor, just tell them I'm a Lady of the Church waitin' out the rain."

After a long considering minute, the matron nodded. "I understand you very well." she finally agreed. "Have you told anyone else in the town?" she asked, and Katarina made a sound of negation.

"Just your husband, and I can already see he can keep a secret." Katarina replied angrily.

The innkeeper's wife frowned at her. "Being unmarried, I wouldn't 'spect you to unnerstan what is and isn't said 'tween a wife an' her husband." She snapped coldly.

They glared at each other. Katarina broke it. "I spose you're right, Matron." She forced herself to shrug indifferently. The Matron nodded self-satisfactorily.

"But I do know what gossip and rumor do." Katarina rebutted, choosing her words carefully. The woman might not be educated but likely she wasn't stupid. "How easy they spread. Fear. Doubt. Panic. Town this size, word gets out, won't take but a day and a night for the killings to start. After that? Well, maybe a few months to a couple years before the Empire sends out some Forest Wardens to pick through the ashes."

Katarina let that sink in. "I don't want that. I know you don't want that, either." She urged quietly.

The woman nodded. "We'll keep your silence."

Katarina nodded. "I appreciate your kindness." She replied. "I'll remember you in my prayers." She promised, and the matron nodded again.

Katarina would have preferred to luxuriate in the bath if she could, but after days in the saddle she was at risk of falling asleep in the brassy tub. She undid her braid and washed her hair, though.

She took her time dressing, and this was due to her eclectic selection of gear. She wore fringed leather breeches like a man, with sturdy boots. On one leg she wore an armored greave that started with an armored boot, covered her calf, and folded in the clamshell style around her thigh. She wore three belts, one of which attached to the greave on her thigh to keep it in place. One was for her sword, a heavy steel cavalry saber, slightly curved, and the other was for her gun, the weapon of her trade. Her gun was a three-barreled pistol with a two-trigger mechanism. One trigger revolved the barrels, the other trigger caused the gun to fire.

Attached to the belt were metal plates that kept a fine steel mesh cape secured about her hips and legs. She wore a travel-stained man's shirt, over which she wore a fine brigandine vest that had been finished with grey silk. Topping off this motley collection of gear was an oversized leather hat with a wide brim.

She returned to her room and sighed. She'd forgotten all about Mystia. She hauled the catatonic mage up and slung her over her shoulder and carried her down to the bathing room. She bathed the woman, washing the mud and horsehair off of her, and dressed the woman in her own clothes. The woman was smaller, more petite than Katarina though, so her clothes were loose and baggy and flapped like sails.

After the baths, the bed was too much to resist. She secured Mystia with a gag and ropes, and almost immediately slipped into a deep sleep.

"Better. Much better." The dark haired woman breathed, nodding approvingly. Katarina was half-curled on the bed, fully dressed, boots at the foot of the bed. Her sword and gunbelt were right by her head; a moment's notice and Katarina could draw either or both in a flash.

The woman lifted the heavy gun from the holster effortlessly. The gun was a thing of exquisite craftsmanship, the wood stock a ruddy walnut, the curving grip carved in the likeness of a curving head and neck of a bird of prey, the steel finely crafted and etched with gold in holy scripture.

The walnut stock had ivory inlays delicately and intricately carved and stained with use and time. The woman casually plucked one of the ivory inlays off, revealing a tiny storage compartment. Inside was a small white slightly curved object, almost like an animal's fang or a miniaturized tusk, or horn. If one looked closely, they could see it was threaded with streaks of gold.

The woman plucked it from the compartment and eyed it in the palm of her hand, and suddenly it was nearly half the woman's height, a long, massive war horn, a slight curve to the musical instrument. It looked carved from some massive and ancient bone, with thick gold bands wrapped around it in several places. Pounded into the soft metal of each band were ancient and powerful sigils that hurt the eye to look at.

The woman hadn't been told why the mithral horn had ended up concealed in the gun; likely Katarina didn't know either- the woman had inherited her gun, along with everything else, from her late Master- when he passed into the Golden Lady's embrace, and he likely hadn't the faintest idea what he'd picked up, except that in its miniscule, shrunken form, it had radiated a bit of the Golden Lady's divine essence. He'd thanked the Goddess properly for the find, and had spent several weeks carefully hollowing out the tiny compartment with which to carry the bit of blessed material, in the hopes that the Goddess of the Dawn would lend Her powers to his hunt. And then he had died, either unable or unwilling to reveal what the gun carried to his girl-child of an apprentice.

She looked down at the Witch Hunter, her eyes murky gray orbs that shifted and churned like racing stormclouds.

She'd waited innumerable mortal years for this day, this moment. She bore neither the long-dead Master Witch Hunter nor this woman Witch Hunter no ill will, but in the first place, the Goddess should never have allowed the humans to forge the horn. Such a thing did not belong within the grasp of mortals.

NO.

The woman jolted at the sudden, flat, omnipresent voice, and knew it down to the bottom of her soul. In her hand, against her will, the ancient horn shrank down once more into the merest fragment of what it truly was.

The woman sullenly slipped the mithral horn into the compartment, and replaced the ivory inlay.

Katarina likely had no idea of the mithral's presence, and likely wouldn't know what to do with it even if she had. Just the sight of the Horn, unveiled and in all its glory would likely cause the woman to soil herself. Mortals were always doing such things at the sight of the Divine. She moved to return the gun, but instead eyed the Witch Hunter again.

The Witch Hunter was tall, taller than most women, of a height with most men. Her hair was almost always kept in a braid as thick as her wrist that hung down past her belts. She had a noblewoman's face, high-cheeked and regal, with watery pale green eyes. Her body was athletic and defined, but still retained a woman's curves.

The woman pressed coal-dark lips together, and carefully slid Katarina's gun back into the holster. For her, there were no concepts of things such as 'love' or 'hate'; there was only a mild indifference to the thrashings of mortals. Still, she didn't think she liked the idea of this woman frothing and flailing at the limbs. Uncharacteristically it filled the woman with a sense of unease, and she reached out a hand towards Katarina's face.

The Witch Hunter shivered in her sleep. Once again, as always, the old nightmare and the new chased her through her dreams.

The darkly furious woman strode towards the shadows without looking back, and vanished once more.