The ground was hard and cold. To the rider, it felt like the horse’s hooves were hitting marble rather than dirt. The beast’s breath froze and turned to mist as it moaned to be allowed to rest, but its rider was adamant that they move forward until they re-joined the group.

Moving in the dark, the trees obscured the moonlight, and the damp wood prevented fire, making it difficult to follow the preceding path, assuming he hadn't already become lost. It was a dangerous time to be alone in the forest; the cold is not the only thing that can kill a man. The rider was well aware of the danger he was in if he didn’t catch up with his group. But his steed was exhausted from the hard ride of the day and the cold of the night. Just a little farther, he thought; it won’t be long now. They will have noticed my absence once they made camp and are probably out looking for me right now. This was his first excursion. He requested it and wouldn’t live down the humiliation if they had to come save him. That would put an end to any hopes he had of rising through the ranks. Damn horse, why have you got us so lost. Every noise turned his head, as he grew more restless by the second. The creak of a tree, the sound of leaves whistling in the wind, he was sure something was watching him just out of sight.

He had unknowingly been going in circles for hours; it was too dark to follow any path or identify any landmarks. Hope of ever finding his group that night was quickly fading…but then came the light in the distance. The exhausted horse was set to gallop after the light. It’s them; they’re looking for me. The light grew bigger; they must have made camp. He could almost feel the warmness of the campfire as they made their way through the last line of trees blocking them from salvation. But when they finally found the light, it was not salvation that was waiting for them. Oh God, no.

It was the middle of a massacre. All his group lay slaughtered on the ground in front of him, and the men responsible were moving to surround him with hungry eyes. They had set out to hunt them down and instead became the hunted. All reason had left him, any thought of rank or position, foolish dreams that had driven him to this place.

Before he could turn back and escape, the rider was pulled from his horse. Dragged crying for mercy to the edge of the huge, raging fire, they dropped him at the feet of the man they had been sent there for. At first, he was too scared to look up at him, but after being pressed to, he finally moved his gaze from the fire to the man with eyes as green as green as emeralds. Though in the fire's shadow, they loomed black over him. “Nice to get warm after that long trek,” he spoke with a faint, raspy voice. On account of the large scar across his neck, the rider guessed. He was too scared to speak, so he nodded as best he could. The man turned from him back to the fire and warmed his hands. “You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question; every man, woman, and child knew and feared Alistair Flint for a thousand miles. The rider nodded again and finally found his voice, “P-p-please, don’t kill me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he spoke in a genuine and almost remorseful tone.

“Please,” the rider begged as tears flowed down his face.

The man known as Flint turned to the rider again, “Grovelling will get you nowhere. I can, however, let you choose how it happens.” The rider was too terrified of the idea of dying to say anything. Flint continued. “After a day and night in this weather, I’m guessing you’d like to go out quick and warm, am I right?” The rider didn’t answer. Flint knelt so that they were at the same level. “Trust me, it’s the best you’re going to get.”

The rider cried outright and nodded in agreement. Flint put his hand on the young man’s shoulder as if to comfort. He leaned in close so that there was only a foot between them and told him, “Worry not. It’ll only hurt for a moment,” before sticking a blade deep between the rider’s ribs. The rider struggled for breath and clutched at Flint, who allowed it and pulled him to his feet. As he faded, Flint held his head up to look him in the eyes. “You see, barely a little thing,” and with a shock to the dying man and those watching, took him in his arms for an embrace. As he felt the light fading around him, life leaving as the blood flowed down his front, he felt a sudden burning sensation. Flint tossed him into the flames and watched as he squirmed and screamed in agony for a few seconds before being engulfed by the fire. Flint never took his eyes off the young man in black until it was over. Only when the body had stilled did he order for the rest of the bodies to be thrown in as well.