Was Morgaine supposed to feel fear? There was a time, perhaps, wherein that would be the case. Watching a man simply disappear from in front of her, transmuting into nothing but air. However, her instincts have strangely . . . changed, since she woke up mere moments ago on that hospital bed. All she could feel was a mild curiosity as to where that man disappeared off to. In fact, the lantern itself was to her mind almost a familiar thing, like she knew how it functioned, vaguely, on an instinctual level. It gave off a bluish glow, which strangely seemed more a warm colour than cold. Almost as if to beckon wanderers and strange souls to its side, where they may rest easy.

Surrounding the lantern was a second room similar to the one she woke up in, but livelier by far. Unlike the first room, some people were awake, albeit huddled silently in their own respective corners, small and mute and closed off. Some bore the distinct signature of hunters, that being weapons. Well, in that case, she was in good enough company. Morgaine, after all, was now a hunter herself. There is a contract somewhere that says as much, though when she tries to envision herself signing it with that church man, her memory fogs over and details become difficult to pluck out. Was he a blind man, wrapped in bandages from the nose up? Was she a handsome woman with an oblong face, grim and wrinkled as a nun ought be? Was it a red-furred beast, enveloped in flame and sorrow? Everything is mere figments and shapes before her awakening.

"Oi. Top the morning," she says, breaking the silence in the room. They were hunters, these supposed companions, but didn't seem like they'd simply up and slaughter her where she stood. It was good to get the greetings out of the way now. The men of her village never hunted alone, and if she had any wits about her, neither would she. If she was going to leave her life in the hands of these strangers, she ought know their names at the very least.