Forests were never comfortable places Hilde thought as she touched her heels to the geldings dappled flank. The horse whickered nervously as it moved alongside the marching men. There was hardly room for it, the trees pressed in close enough to touch. Hilde supposed that is why the Captain had called the few scouts to the front and rear. The hoofs made dull clopping sounds on the damp earth. It had rained recently enough that they didn’t kick up dust, but long enough ago that the road wasn’t a muddy quagmire. Shyalla be praised for small mercies.

The warrior priest, Father Heinrick, turned to glower at her as she approached, his one eye filled with baleful fire.

“You should not be here whore,” he snarled. The captain laid a restraining hand on the priest's shoulder.

“Now is not the time,” he declared in a quiet voice that left no one in doubt that the conversation was over. It had been the captain's decision to allow her along, even though many of the men would have agreed with Heinrick’s assessment. Hilde new better than to open her mouth to argue with the priest. She laid her hand gently along her horses neck as it skittered again.

“Something is wrong,” she declared with sudden certainty. Somewhere behind her a man screamed, his voice tearing the misty forest like a thunderclap.