Ivan leans against the eastern wall of his house, his eyes half-lidded with mild fatigue. He chews on a piece of stale, buttered bread as he tracks four figures on the main road heading his way. Khaliss and Torgrim, followed by Sonja and Arfin.

"Later than I thought they'd be."

Ivan turns to see his father emerge from their home with Dana following closely behind, his face scrunched up from the effort it takes him to make out their figures with his squinting eyes. He grunts, then looks over at the pile of bones by the edge of the forest, sitting ugly by his crops.

"Sordid business, this ritual. Better they get it over and done with."

Ivan huffs, though the lopsided curl of his lips gives away his humour. "Be careful what you wish for. Once they're done with the ritual, the fighting starts. Might see your crops decimated."

Ivan's father crosses his arms over his chest—an action made less imposing by his disability. "Oh? Looks like you've found your voice again. Thought you might make another day of moping about on your lonesome."

"I'm not moping."

"Could've fooled me, boy."

As if to reiterate the old man's point, Dana whines. She goes to Ivan with a wagging tail and nudges his leg with his nose. He huffs at first, but her puppy dog eyes soon have him ruffling the fur on the top of her head and scratching the backs of her ears. When he finally pulls away, he chews on the last bite of his bread, drawing out the action if only to avoid conversation with his father, but he feels the man's gaze boring into him. It seems he won't be shaken off so easily.

"Always staring off into the distance, looking at the village like a maiden pining for her lost love."

Ivan scoffs, batting his father away, but the man doesn't budge.

"What's on your mind, son?"

Ivan shakes his head and keeps his lips sealed.

His father sighs. "Well, you've got to let it out eventually, or you'll start looking more like me sooner than you'd like."

There's a pause. It lingers between the two of them long enough that Ivan gets the feeling his father is already savvy to the conflict within him, but he doesn't dare confirm the suspicion. Better to exist adrift in this space of uncertainty.

He's grown overly familiar with uncertainty ever since the beast made its presence known to the village, and he wagers it isn't an uncommon feeling amongst the others. Still, he doesn't want to drift for too long. His eyes focus on Khaliss and the Uthgardt once more, their features clearer in the mid-morning sun now that they're closer. As they turn away from the main road and onto the grass near his home, he feels the intensity of his father's gaze lessen.

Khaliss splits away from the rest as they turn toward the pile of bones. She seems to be the only one decent enough to greet them with her subtle smile and welcoming eyes. It's enough to earn Dana's approval, who rushes to her with panting breath, lolling tongue, and a wagging tail. It makes the drow laugh, and she goes to one knee to pet the dog for a while before she rises again, looking between Ivan and his father.

"Good morning," she says.

Ivan's father replies with a curt nod. "Morning to you, too."

"Morning," Ivan says.

"Everything is in order to make the final preparations for the ritual. It will not take long now. Soon we will know where the beast lies, and we will lure it to where we desire... or we will be forced to meet it in the forest."

Ivan's father laughs—a huff of air from his nostrils, followed by a low hum. "I'm not sure which is worse. Whatever you do, be safe."

"We will," Khaliss says.

Ivan's father nods, though he doesn't seem convinced. He retreats into the house with Dana hot on his heels. "Well, I'll stay out of your way."

"We will let you know when we begin the ritual," Khaliss says.

Again, Ivan's father nods before disappearing into the house. Khaliss turns her attention to Ivan this time, and her eyes take on a little more concern than he'd like. It makes it difficult for him to meet her gaze.

"Something troubles you," she says.

"The same thing that troubles everyone else in this village. Things are coming to a head now. Like you said, you'll lure the beast back here."

Khaliss shakes her head. "Not here. Not if we have any say. The meadow to the west and beyond the rolling hill will serve as our battlefield."

Ivan's brow furrows as he looks at the ruined trees at the boundary of the forest. "Few things have gone according to plan since this beast made its presence known."

"That is why we have contingencies."

Ivan can do no more than muster a quiet hum in response. Khaliss says nothing, and an uncomfortable silence hangs between them. Suddenly, his eyelids feel as though they are wrought of lead—he can barely lift his eyes from the ground.

"Speak to me, Ivan."

He shakes his head. "What's there to say? I'm not looking forward to seeing the beast again."

Again, there's silence, but it's different this time. It's filled with the sound of rustling grass, crushed under Khaliss' greaves as she comes closer, standing beside him and leaning against the wall as he does, looking out toward the village.

She hums. "You have faced the beast twice now: once when it first appeared, and again deeper in the forest. You have proven that you can face it, and yet that knowledge does not seem to be enough.

"Not that these things are so simple. Facing a creature so terrible is bound to be fear-inducing every time. Know that you are not alone in this."

Ivan is pulled out of his self-pity long enough to be surprised. He can't imagine Khaliss being afraid—not after his time with her in the forest—and it must show on his face because a wry smile curls her lips.

"I have a heart, just as you do, and I wager it beats just as fast to behold the beast," she says.

A bashful laugh escapes him. "You always seem so... calm and composed. Nerves of steel, and all that."

Khaliss chuckles. "I've had centuries to hone my bravery, so much so that I might appear fearless, but that is not the same thing. Fear is what gives bravery meaning. Fearlessness is the same as stupidity."

"Hah! I must be really smart, then," Ivan says. Khaliss shakes her head, but her unspoken, gentle chastising only makes him hum in laughter. His fear is still there, but he doesn't feel so alone now. So hopeless. As his laughter dies, he turns to her.

"Thank you."

She bows—a shallow bob of her head—and smiles. "I could see you needed it."

"Here, lassie!"

Ivan turns his head to see Arfin waving, gesturing for Khaliss to come his way. Sonja and Torgrim look on expectantly, and when Khaliss is slow to respond, the former beckons Khaliss with a flick of her head and a warm smile.

"Come." Khaliss urges Ivan to follow her with a gentle press of her hand against his arm. Together, they cross the main road and walk to the pile of bones, now more shapely, a cone of loose animal skulls sitting at the centre of a thick ring of unconsolidated skeletons. Its boundaries are jagged—formed of cracked bone and distorted by haphazard placement, giving it an organic feel, but not so much that Ivan ever believes its arrangement is accidental.

Just as they reach him, Torgrim turns to his masterpiece, shifting a bone with his foot, forcing it to conform to a shape he desires. When he turns his gaze back to them, it lands squarely on Khaliss.

"We are almost ready, but we want for one thing," he says.

A subtle frown graces Khaliss' lips. "Oh?"

"We're missing a wood elf!" Arfin says.

Khaliss hums. "I told her what we planned to do. She should be here shortly."

"Something wrong?" Ivan says.

Khaliss parts her lips, but no words spill from them—she stops herself before they can, and her brow furrows. It's gentle, almost imperceptible, and she looks toward the village as she softens. "If so, she hasn't made me aware of it."

"She's a tough lass. She'll get over it before noon," Arfin says, "Means we've got plenty of time to add the finishing touches, eh?" He turns to Torgrim and Sonja, the latter reaching into her pack. 

The huntress rummages for a few moments before she produces a bundle of strong-smelling herbs, separating their dried stems with nimble fingers as her keen eyes assess their quality. Ivan watches with his curious gaze as she circles the skeletal monument, hopping over the thick ring of bones to reach the small mountain of animal skulls. With dextrous fingers, she separates some herbs from the bundle and stuffs it into an eye socket of one cow skull. She places some more into the broken maw of a ram's skull, letting it rest between shattered teeth. With a reverent care, the huntress decorates the soulless mound of barren bone with such ease that Ivan knows it's not her first time.

Sonja circles the structure, ever-mindful of her step as she adheres to the thin ring of soil free of bone, placing the herbs in the gaps available as she goes until all are filled with some kind of plant matter. No orifice or space goes unclaimed. It gives the monument a morbid beauty that Ivan might admire if he didn't remember the circumstances from which it arose.

Sonja completes one lap of the ring, placing the last herbs into a pressed space between skulls before reaching into her pack again. This time, she produces a small bottle of liquid, and as she unscrews the lid, a pungent, sickly sweet rot-stink fills the air. Ivan holds down the urge to retch as he wrinkles his nose in the wake of its full-bodied assault.

"Delicate nose, eh?" Arfin says, laughing.

"It smells worse than the muck in Alfie's stables," Ivan mutters. He almost regrets opening his mouth—he can practically taste the oil as Sonja sprays the pile of animal skulls with a few drops of the stuff. Even Khaliss has to turn away.

For a mercy, Sonja works quickly, and she's soon closing the bottle again, although the morning breeze is nowhere near strong enough to rid the air of the oil's stench. Those drops that escaped the bottle are enough to fell a horse as powerful as Bob. 

As she hops over the outer ring of bones, Torgrim reaches into his pack to produce a small wooden bowl, stained from frequent use. The shaman bends on one knee as he places it before the shrine of bone. With thick, calloused fingers, he plucks a hunting knife secured to his hip, holding it up to watch the sunlight catch on its sharp edge. He admires it for a moment before his icy-blue eyes look between Khaliss and Ivan.

"I would start the ritual sooner rather than later, but not without Sylfir," he says.

Ivan looks at Khaliss just as she looks at him, a moment of silence shared between them. He hesitates for a split second.

"...I could get her," he says. It's more of a question than an offer.

Khaliss nods. "We will be waiting for you. All should be prepared upon your arrival."

Despite his offer, and the smell, Ivan is slow to move.

"Ack! Torgrim said sooner rather than later, if ye didn't hear," Arfin says.

Ivan sneers—only a subtle curl of his lip, but alongside his cutting side-eye, it's enough to take the halfling by surprise. Ivan leaves before Arfin can say anything else, skirting the edge of his father's crop fields until he reaches the main road again and turns toward the village.

As he grinds dust beneath his feet with every step, he remembers that last time he took to this road to see the wood elf. He was confident, comfortable to the point of complacency, so much so that news of her disappearance hit him like a hoof to the face. With all that followed afterwards, that sense of comfort seems a million miles away, and confidence is replaced with caution.

It's unusual for Ivan to feel this way. His first instinct is to push the feeling down, but it always rises to the surface again. It's what keeps him awake at night—what keeps his eyes fixed on the boundary of the woods, and now it makes his heart beat harder as he inches closer to the village. Once upon a time, he might have been able to convince himself it was from excitement, but it doesn't feel quite right. It's like his body is telling him to flee—to hide.

And he wants Sylfir to do that, too. He doesn't want her to go to the edge of the forest. He doesn't want to find her lying between its trees, inches from death again. What he wants is for her to stay with him. Just so he knows she's okay. Just so he knows she's not alone.

No one should be alone with that thing.

He stops for a moment, looking back. Khaliss and the others are distant now, but not as distant as they should be. He's not walking as quickly as he should. His body won't let him.

He sighs, shaking his head as he turns back toward the village, pushing down his body's rebellion as he continues onward.