A westerly wind brings in low grey clouds, and Sylfir feels the first of its raindrops land on her skin. She heads inside the Weary Wanderer to seek shelter before it gets worse, where the music of a flute cuts through the low chatter of the patrons. She follows her ears until she spies Khaliss in her usual corner, drawing forth a sweet melody from the instrument with the ease of a master. It's almost enthralling, and Sylfir pauses by the tavern door to take in the experience, closing her eyes to focus on the soothing sound.

It quells the restlessness within her for a moment as she follows the peaks and valleys Khaliss' song takes her to. Each graceful flourish reminds her of the ephemeral dance of fireflies, each winding note the flowing water of a calm river, and each vibrato the rhythm of beating hummingbird wings. And then the rhythm slows, each airy note becoming more drawn out until no more leave the instrument. At the end of the song, Sylfir opens her eyes to find Khaliss looking at her, beckoning her to join her.

She follows, walking between the seated patrons until she reaches the drow and takes a seat beside her.

"You seem more contemplative than usual," she says.

Sylfir smiles—a half-hearted half-smile that doesn't crinkle her eyes. "I have my moments."

But Khaliss doesn't seem to share her subtle humour. She looks at Sylfir with thoughtful lavender eyes that lay her bare. "Something is bothering you."

Sylfir's smile fades as she looks away toward the patrons, but she doesn't truly see them. "It's nothing. It's... silly." She dips her head as if to hide her face, looking at her fidgeting hands, and she lets silence linger between them for a while, but the weight of Khaliss' gaze is too great to ignore. "My scars—do you think, maybe, one day, they will...?"

She feels Khaliss' hand on her shoulder. It's only a gentle touch, but it moves her.

"I did what I could, but they shall remain as they are, save for any swelling. Considering the damage done, you are healing well. Try to focus on that."

Sylfir frowns. It's not what she wants to hear. She wants to know that she won't be disfigured for the rest of her life. She's silent for a while, but then she looks at Khaliss again. "I am grateful for what you did. Truly. I just..."

"You are more than your scars. It is difficult now, but in time you will accept it. And there are people who will accept you regardless, if you give them the chance," Khaliss says, "Those who do not are not worth knowing."

Hearing those words makes Sylfir feel better, if only a little. She places her hand over Khaliss' and nods. "Thank you."

"What're ye lookin' down fer, lassie?"

Sylfir's eyes snap ahead at the sound of Arfin's voice, and she finds him standing before her with a furrowed brow. Flanking him on either side is a concerned Sonja and a stoic Torgrim. In her melancholy, she almost forgot she was meeting them here. She shakes her head. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Sonja mouths.

Sylfir smiles, an earnest one now, as she looks at Khaliss, then back to the huntress. "Yes. I feel better now."

Sonja looks between the two of them, and the concern on her face lessens. "All right," she mouths. She takes a seat at the table alongside Arfin and Torgrim.

"Introductions are in order," Sylfir says, gesturing broadly. "Everyone, this is Khaliss. Khaliss, meet Sonja, Arfin, and Torgrim."

Torgrim bows his head in Khaliss' direction, and she mirrors the greeting. Sonja signs her greeting, performing a shallow bow, too, but Arfin reaches across the table with his meaty hand with a grin on his face.

"Pleasure to meet the lass that saved the little one." When Khaliss takes his hand, he shakes vigorously, then looks sidelong at Sylfir with a cheeky grin. "Must be strange fer her to be the one receivin' life-savin' healin'."

Sylfir rolls her eyes as Arfin withdraws, taking his seat again. "Anyway, about this beast..."

"Yes," Khaliss says, "Having travelled through the forest to get here, I dare say you know its impact well. More than that, you know the twisted magic that brought it into being and took the forest to the brink of utter ruin."

Torgrim grumbles. "Aye. A touch of death that spreads like wildfire, blighting the forest. The spirits of the ancestors recoil in horror and decry those who would do such damage."

"You are in communion with such spirits?" Khaliss says.

Torgrim nods. "It is the way of all shamans. It is our communion with our ancestors that allows us to roam the forest and take from it without causing lasting harm. To see it suffer in this way..."

"I know," Sylfir says, "We will see the damage undone."

"And to do that, we must find the source of the corruption," Sonja mouths.

Sylfir nods. "I mentioned the beast in my letter, but you'll recall that I also mentioned a mysterious person. We know more about her now, a drow woman skilled in necromancy and illusion magic. She is our main target, even above the beast... if we can get to her."

"So she's the one we need to lure, eh?" Arfin says, "How're we going to do that?"

Sylfir and Khaliss look at each other for a moment, then Khaliss breaks eye contact, looking back at Arfin. "She is likely a denizen of Menzoberranzan. Their hatred for followers of Eilistraee is no secret. She will come for me, eventually."

Arfin frowns. "We just sit here and wait?"

Sylfir hums. "I'm not so sure I like the sound of that, either. I don't want to give the beast time to recover or its master the chance to think of a new strategy. There must be a way we can lure the beast."

"An active approach is far more dangerous, as you well know," Khaliss says.

Sylfir frowns. "I know. I'm not suggesting that we go into the forest. There must be some indirect way..."

"Perhaps," Torgrim says, "This beast is a product of necromancy—I can exploit that."

Sonja shakes her head, then lifts her hands to sign. "I know what you plan to do. You would need the bones of the beast's victims. That would mean braving the forest again."

A cheeky, lopsided grin spreads across Torgrim's face. "I can be brave."

Sonja scowls, smacking him on the shoulder, but the mountain of a man barely moves an inch.

Sylfir shakes her head. "You don't have to be. Those bones from the fallows—you would have seen them on the way here yesterday—they belong to livestock killed by the beast. There's more than enough for you to perform your ritual, no?"

Torgrim nods.

"And this ritual—what does it do, exactly?" Khaliss says.

"It allows me to commune with dead animals over great distances—in this case, the beast," Torgrim says, "What I will say to it when I do... that remains to be seen."

Arfin chuckles. "Aye, there's no knowing how rowdy the thing'll be. Or how loyal it'll be to its master."

Khaliss hums, but from her expression, Sylfir senses the cleric is not convinced. "The hold the drow has over her beast will not be so easily broken. She is a necromancer of considerable skill."

Sonja tilts her head as she takes on a thoughtful look. Then she begins to sign, her lips shaping around soundless words. "Maybe we do not need to break her hold on it..."

Torgrim's eyes brighten with realisation. "We only need to show her we have the potential. Then she will be forced to act quickly—perhaps before she is ready."

Sylfir hums. "Her beast is her greatest asset besides her raw skill. Without it, she will be exposed, and she knows it."

"You speak as though you know her mind," Khaliss says, "There may be other reasons she does not press an attack. She has not made her motives clear."

Sylfir frowns. They both know that isn't true, but the look in Khaliss' eye keeps her quiet.

"Still, your plan might have merit, Torgrim," Khaliss says, "I would not dismiss it out of hand, but we must be prepared for other eventualities."

"Like?" Arfin says.

"She may have the resolve to hold out," Khaliss says, "Then we might have to meet her in the forest. There is also the chance she will deem us too great a threat and lose interest in the village, moving on to the next settlement."

Sylfir frowns. "And then we will have to chase it..."

"Even more of a reason to act now," Torgrim says. "I must collect these bones."

"I will take you to the fallows," Khaliss says.

Torgrim nods. "There are other things I need, but we can attend to that later."

Sonja raises her hands to sign, her lips parting as she mouths, "We needed to create the shrine where the beast was last sighted."

"Near the Wolff farmhouse," Sylfir says, "Where the trees are trampled, near the western edge of the crop fields. You would have seen it coming in from the main road."

Sonja smiles, and the longer Sylfir looks at her curling lips, the more she realises she's being teased. Sonja tilts her head as she signs. "Eager to come with?"

Sylfir shakes her head. "I... I need to remain behind. There is something I must do."

"Ye all right, lass?" Arfin says.

She nods. "Yes. Please, go on without me."

Of all of them, it's Khaliss' gaze that threatens to lay her bare, knowing, and full of concern. But she doesn't press further when Sylfir offers a wan smile in reassurance, and is the first one to leave her seat at the table.

"Come," she says, "I would prefer we collect the bones and begin preparations for the ritual before nightfall. Hopefully, we can conduct it sometime tomorrow."

Torgrim leaves his seat, too, gesturing to the door. "Lead the way."

Sonja and Arfin follow suit, and they nod their farewells as they follow Khaliss and Torgrim to the exit, leaving Sylfir alone at the table.

She doesn't linger once they leave, though, rising from her seat and heading for the stairs, each of her steps weighed down—burdened by her thoughts. Once she climbs the stairs, she reaches the creaky corridor of the upper floor, passing the doors to other rooms until she reaches her own. She enters, gently closing the door behind her, and she takes herself to the small desk in the corner, where an inkwell rests untouched since she wrote her letter to the White Eagle Clan. She takes a seat, taking parchment and a feather quill from the desk drawer, and strains to find the right words.

When she does, she takes her quill, dipping it in the shallow black ink inside the inkwell before bringing its sharp tip to the page.