Orange light glimmered in the distance. He was cold, and wet. Water torrented down upon them, and every movement made Casser feel like he was under water. Each step was careful as his boots sunk into mud, and with each new step he had to pull it from its grasp. The forest didn’t want to let him go. It wanted to swallow him whole. Him and his men both.

They had made it back to the frontier village, and every one of his muscles argued with him as he kept walking. Lie down, they said. Rest, they said. But he couldn’t. He made his way to the village center, his men following suit, having long broken out of formation. Their shoulders were slumped, their legs muddied, faces pale. They needed rest, so he waved them away to their own dwellings and they gladly complied.

Casser knocked on the door. The lantern light inside was still on, which meant the village govern was still awake. He saw the man’s shadow in the tiny window on the side, no doubt looking out to see who it was. Not that he’d see much, with the rain. The door opened, and the man urged him in without a word.

The abode was small, more so than most of the villages Casser had been to. The bed was barely off the ground, the cushioning no more than a thin layer of chicken feathers. There were only two chairs, and the dining table could barely be called that with how tiny it was. Governs tended to live more luxuriously than the rest of their flock, but Govern Lydl seemed to be of different cloth. A man who valued equality, or perhaps just too poor or senseless to get away with it. Casser hoped for the former, but he knew better than to assume. There were a lot of idiots in the world.

“We found them.” He spoke as soon as sat down. The chair was hand carved, uncomfortable and ill shaped, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“So Fred spoke the truth?” Casser nodded in response. “What is your plan now, if I may ask?” They were always up to him, weren’t they? Plans. Always up to the Domicus, the ever esteemed knights of the Uthain Kingdom. But throw a monster at them and they’ll die, like any other man.

“Govern, I will not regale you with niceties. I will be sending word on the morrow, and if I am heeded, then there will be a battle and you will all be safe, at least for the time being. But if I am not, you must retreat. Find somewhere else.”

“We have nowhere else to go, sir Domicus.”

“Then you will die.” It was the simple truth, but the Govern’s depressed look still pained him. It brought too many memories.

“Are we truly that hopeless? Surely a single beast can’t be so difficult to kill.” Casser shook his head. Do you see one ant, and assume it is alone? One wolf? No. But he couldn’t say that.

“There are more of them than you’d believe, Govern. A whole village of their own, though their craftsmanship is shoddy. And they are big, govern. Taller than any man and wider than bulls. They stand on two feet and have hands like a man. So yes, Govern, as much as I’d rather not say it, you are hopeless here.” The man looked dejected. It was understandable. His hopes were dashed so soon after acting on them, and by the word of a Domicus no less. Few could envy the frontier villages.

Casser stood from his chair, lightly pushing it into the table before he made his way out. Rain pelted him immediately, though he was already soaked all the way through. He listened to the ding of his chestplate as water splashed off it, his boots squishing through mud as he made his way to their temporary dwellings. It was bigger than the Govern’s home, but scarce of any furniture or windows.

Opening the door, he saw his men in different states of undress, clothes and armor formed into little piles. Each had a lit lantern, providing some much needed light to Casser’s eyes, though the leaking ceiling dampened him both physically and mentally.

“Welcome back,” Lenn said. He had a boot in hand and a rag in the other, moving it back and forth as he wiped away mud.

As Casser moved to his own spot in the corner Bronel stood. “I’ll get it for you.” Bronel was quick with his fingers, and in no time he’d undone the armor bearing him down. Casser put it down carefully. You didn’t mistreat your armor, especially when it was steel. Most men didn’t get steel. “Anything else?”

“No. Thank you.” Bronel turned back to his own equipment, and Casser sat on the wooden floor. It was damp and untreated. It’d rot before long, especially with the rain. But that didn’t mean much to him, at least he’d like to think, so he set about cleaning his own equipment.

“We sticking around?” The question startled him for a second. Jof could see it, he could tell from his expression. No, they could all see it, and he could feel it. He was jumpy. Scared.

“I’m sending word out tomorrow, if the storm lets up enough. After that, it’ll be three days before we get a response, at the earliest.” Their eyes avoided his as he looked around at the three of them. They didn’t want to be here any longer than he did. “Lighten up,” he said. They didn’t, and he had nothing else to say. He couldn’t blame them. Those things had followed them almost the whole way out of the forest. They could kill one, maybe, if they worked together. But they had been surrounded. It wasn’t the first time Casser felt like fleeing. But it might be the first time he did it.