[b]All[/b]

It is, as it always is, the unlikeliest chance that things should be as they are. That you should be here. That Hector should have smiled at Tristan and held onto a ray of hope of things never done. That Constance may have smiled in a secret night too dark by her direction for anyone to see it. That Robena may have gone to bed and perhaps, just perhaps, smiled when she reflected on her own choice. 

The final day of hunts does not greet you merrily, but with a growl. Sleet-thick winds strike at the castle stones and batter the windows. The clouds are gray and menacing, the sun a distant glow behind them, little more than a hint that it exists. The trees creek and crack, the snow crackles, and there is no sign of life or movement, though the scouts nevertheless went out before danw to find the boar trail. 

And yet...the full downpour holds itself in abeyance. Or is held, perhaps? Who could say what confluence of powers is at war in the heavens, after all? 

[b]Robena[/b]

You are met at dawn, such as it is, by Sir Hector. Though she has been loathe to speak with you to date, she stands before your room politely while you ready yourself. She already wears her own hunting gear: a long fur cape over her armor, a greatbow slung over her back and a great boar-spear with its high hilt held in one hand. She has prepared a sharpened boar spear for your use as well, held cautiously away from you in her other hand. For today is the boar hunt. The boar stands as the symbol of endurance and ferocious power. It has always been the pinnacle of the hunt. Not cunning or villainous, not fast, never lithe. But powerful, dangerous, and fighting to the last. The spear that Hector presents you is unadorned, but of the highest quality, with a good firm grip wrapped in leather and a point that does not show a single flaw upon it. This is a fine compliment, and one that you would not know what you have done to deserve. It is, after all, a favor to Tristan, not to you. 

How do you ready yourself for the final hunt on this harsh day?

[b]Constance, Tristan[/b]
You are permitted, if you wish it, to sleep in. The castle is focused on Robena's last hunt, and for the early morning there is nothing else to be done. It is dark, gray, and entirely unlike a day anyone would wish to rise to meet. But you can wake, if you wish, and bathe or chat. Or you can wait, and go to see the lady Sauvage when she calls upon you mid-morning. She will not be joining the hunt at all this day, not even from a distance, and wishes instead to see you. 

This is a fell thing, for she has doffed most of her humanity on this last day. Her dress is a somber blueish gray, and her skin has faded to match. Her mouth is pursed, and her hands look almost as stone perched on the gilded sides of her throne. Her doom and with it the last remnants of her existence, is coming to an end. Perhaps the weather is a reflection of her mood. Or one that combats her?

Regardless, she turns with the barest of motions, not to Constance, but to Tristan first. "Most unexpected" she says, her face nearly still save for her lips blue with cold. "What...do you think of the knights I have gathered here?" 

Is that, perhaps, the smallest of smiles at the edge of her lips? What an unlikely chance.