I do not know how far the river carried me, but wherever I am. Nothing is familiar to me. The leaves on the branches are alien, the birds sing is a language I do not recognize. I've been stumbling through thick vegetation for what seems like hours. My clothes are soaked through, and I lost nearly all of my equipment in the fall. How I survived the river rapids I do not know. Every inch of my body feels bruised, my right shoulder is dislocated and trails of blood have dried across my face. Each step through these woods is agony and each breath a labour. If I'm lucky I'll live to see the moon, one last time.

No, don't think like that. I have to get back to Ivar. But I need more than one working arm if I don't want to die here. I unclasp my cloak and lay it out on the ground. The thick black fabric has been shredded by the sharp thorns of the berry bushes I've stumbled through. Perfect, easier to tear. I rip several long lengths of the fabric and tie them together. There's a nearby tree that's thin enough to wrap the cloth around but thick enough not to break. I wrap the fabric around the trunk and tie the ends around my useless arm. Slowly and carefully I step back so that my arm extends out in front of me. I take a long shaky breath and count to three. One. Two. Pop! I yelp at the sharp pain, yelling every curse I can think of. 

Soon the pain dulls to an ache, I roll my shoulder and swing my arm around gently. It's sore, but working. Time to get moving, but in which direction? I ran from the river for fear of the Vrythe continuing their pursuit. But I have not seen or heard any sign of them. I can hear the faint rumble and thrashing of the river, it's close. But the sound is coming from every direction. I close my eyes and listen, trying to pinpoint the direction the river is coming from. Behind me. I turn and resume crashing through the forest like a lame giant, hacking my way through thick bush.

After what I think is an hour I stop, out of breath, thirsty, and starving. I can't hear the river over my loudness of my breathing. I find a fallen log to sit and rest, trying to suck in as much air as possible. As my breathing slows, my heart sinks. I don't hear the river anymore, I've gone the wrong way. Panic begins to creep into my mind, but if I let it take over. I'm as good as dead. Breathe Soren. Just Breathe. Retrace your steps back to where you started and pick a new direction. I push the panic back as best I can and scan the area, the vegetation is so thick I've barely left a visible trail. Carefully I follow the crushed leaves and cut vines back in the direction I last heard the river.

Soon the rushing of the river drifts through the forest, the sound filling me with hope and joy as if it were a beautifully composed melody. As I cut through more brush I finally see the cloth I tied around the tree. Okay great, we're back. But... now where? I listen to the river again, but it's the same as before, it could be anywhere. I scan the woods, looking for any sign of a trail that leads to my salvation. And I see something, buried in the thick of the woods, hardly visible. A small cabin, built with the same trees that surround it. Bandits probably built it. But the moon is setting and I don't have any other options.

I draw my blade and approach the cabin slowly, trying my best to avoid being in view of the small windows. Once I reach the cabin I press my back up against the rough wood and peer into the window. There's no flickering candlelight, no fire burns in below the mantle place. The stink of mildew forces itself through the window. No one's home, and hasn't been for a long time. I make my way to the front of the cabin and try the door. It opens easily. That can't be a good sign. The cabin is just as small as it looked on the inside. A dust covered mount of a deer hangs above the fireplace. A small cooking cauldron hangs from a metal stand over an empty pit.

By the window on the west side of the cabin is an empty table with two chairs on either side. Intricate carvings flow along the legs and up the back rests. On the opposite side is an open storage chest, a few larger items stick out from it. The floor is littered with various clothing, food and children's toys. One of the toys catches my eye, a small tattered stuffed bear with a golden necklace.

"Hello?" I ask to the empty room. No answer. Keeping my blade drawn I close the door behind be and check every corner of the one floor cabin before finally relaxing. I turn my attention back to the stuffed bear. The necklace has a small pendant in the shape of a rose bloom. I bend down and remove the necklce from the bear and turn the pendant over. To my dearest son. Corvus. This is the king's cabin... What made them leave in such a hurry? And if this bear was a gift for Corvus, this cabin has been abandoned for decades. Shivering wracks my body, directing my attention to far more pressing matters.

My clothes still drip with water and sweat and I've been shivering for hours. My mind is consumed with only one objective. Fire. My body is so desperate for heat I can almost feel its phantom. There is no wood in the fireplace. I'll start there.

After I've gathered enough wood to last the night I start making my way back inside. Thankfully I did not have to wander far. I push the door open with my back and when I turn I'm met with a sight that puts me on edge. A man sits in one of the extravagant chairs in front of the mantle place, prodding a newly lit fire. His hair is long and grey, his clothing is full of holes, exposing pale wrinkled skin. So it's not abandoned, an old hermit has already made him claim. He does not turn to me as I set down my woodpile and approach.

"Forgive me friend, I did not mean to intrude." Silence. "But if you would be so kind, I am very lost and in bad shape. And I have no where else to go for the night." I wait in painful silence, watching him stoke the flames. He begins nodding slowly, and before I can react a red hot poker is inches from my eye. I can feel the intense heat radiating off of it.

"Who are you?" He asks. His voice low and dark. "Why are you here?"

"I'm just a lost traveller, my party and I were attacked by the Vrythe. I fell into the river and washed up not far form here." I say. He scoffs at the story.

"It's not Mortem, the Vrythe don't attack. Unless provoked." He inches the poker closer to my eye, the heat makes my eye water and my body tense.

"They do if you've a bounty on your head."

"A criminal then. I'd do the world some good shoving this poker through your skull then." He rears his arm back and lunges. I step the side and draw my blade. We face off. He makes the first move. Slashing at my head. I duck the attack and move to cut into his side, but he's far faster than an old man should be. The tip of my blade rips through the fabric of his tattered tunic, grazing his side. He attacks again, I parry and make distance. The sound of my heavy breath is all I can hear. My wet clothing is weighing me down, like I'm fighting with weighted boots. He rushes me, roaring like the crazy old man he is. I slash at his torso, he drops his shoulder and rams me into the wall. Sharp pain shoots throughout my entire body, like my nerves have been struck by lightning.

I slide down the wall to my knees, gasping. I can't breathe but I don't have time to regain it. He raises his weapon to deliver the killing blow, I roll away as the blow narrowly misses me. I jump to my feet and engage, swinging a relentless assault of strikes. But he deflects them all. He hooks my blade with the poker and rips it out from my hands. A heavy foot lands into my chest and sends me to the floor. My head is spinning, a splitting pain has erupted into the back of my skull. I rest my head on the floor of he cabin. I knew this place was too good to be true. The old man stand over me his poker pointed at my throat.

"Get up." He lowers his weapon and extends his hand. I stare at him cautiously. "I'm not going to kill you. You could have murdered the king for all I care." I keep my eyes on his poker and take his hand. He walks past me and sets it back in its place on the wrack near the fire. I retrieved my blade and sheathe it, the old man has resumed his seat.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Nobody." He says, eyes locked onto the flicker of the flames in front of him.

"How long have you been here?"

"Too long."

"You never bothered to clean up?" The old man sighs and presses his fingers into his eyes.

"Look kid, you've humored an old man enough for the night. Set your clothes on the line outside to dry, there's fresh ones in the storage chest there. And only one bed, so the floor will have to do."

"Why are you help-" He shoves a thick fur blanket into my chest.

"Get changed, and go to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."

"I'm grateful for the lodging but I'll be leaving first thing in the morning."

"Well, good thing I wake up early. You owe me a story, for not running a hot poker through your eye." He smirks and taps a finger to his left eye as he moves past me to the bedroom. "Keep the fire going, unless you want to share the floor with the rats."

---

"Witch flesh eh? Can't be the worse thing to do with a dead witch can it?" We sit across from each other at the small table by the even smaller window. In the bright light of the Vita moon the cabin's age shows itself. Most of the floorboards are rotted, and the low rafters above seem to barley be holding together. It's a miracle this place hasn't collapsed yet. The ground is littered with more trash and forgotten momentos than I had first thought. Whoever abandoned this place didn't leave by choice.

"I suppose not. There was just so much of it... I can't imagine they're obtaining it just defending themselves."

"Of course not, The Mortus Rose are witch hunters after all."

"Witch Hunters? I was told they're a rebellion agains the forces of the Black Rose and The Noxbleum?"

"Oh? And who told you that?" I look nervously out the window, searching the tree line for any prying eyes.

"The Arator." He whistles softly and leans back in his chair.

"Well, well well. It's not easy to get an audience with the likes of her. Just how exactly did you pull that off?"

"I have... connections." He eyes narrow, surveying my expression carefully.

"Family then." He leans forwards and rests his elbows on the table. "Always those closest to you, that you least expect to betray you." I nod silently. We sit for a moment, gazing out the window. Were I not being hunted, the forest would be a beautiful peaceful sight. But now... every rustling leaf makes my heart jump into my throat. Anxiety begins to stir deep in my belly, I need to leave.

"I need to go. My friends are in danger, and I don't know how much longer I have before the Vrythe end up at your doorstep."

"Your friends were probably captured and thrown into a cell long before you found this cabin." They can't be, our only pursuers were the Vrythe. And with the bridge collapse they had have escaped. Unless... I didn't tell them the Arator was the one that made the deal. The anxiety turns to full blown panic.

"I have to try."

"Try what? Fighting the entire army of the Mortus Rose by yourself?"

"If that's what it takes." He shakes his head annoyed.

"Youth is wasted on the young." He says and lets out a long sigh. "That's impossible. And even though your skull is a bit thicker than usual, you know it. You go back there and you're signing your own death warrant." I pause at the door. Why does he care so much? I'm nobody to him.

"Why do you care if I live or die? Why give me shelter? Why trade my life for a story?" The old man stands slowly from the table and approaches me. Stopping just a foot away.

"Because we can't have our only salvation from the Noxbleum. Throwing himself into a pit of wolves now can we? Rose Knight."

"How do you know what I am?" I stare in bewilderment at the old man. "Who are you?"

"Someone that can help you. And from our little duel earlier you're in dire need of help."

"I know how to handle myself." I'm offended by his words, but he's right. Ever since the Sorrowmoore the abilities that are supposed to come with being the Rose Knight have not manifested. The few occurrences have seemed more answers to my silent prayers for help rather than by my own command. The old man chuckles at my words. It makes me feel like a child, but I can't save my friends without help. Whatever that help may be. I sigh and look out the window.

"But you're right. I can't save them alone. When do we start?"