Epilogue

A charred stain stood where once there had been a village. Crying survivors were perched outside their homes, holding onto whatever was left of their belongings. A dozen bodies had been laid outside the church, covered by singed, blackened cloaks. Soot danced in the air as wind picked up bits and pieces from the remains of the buildings; soon the rain would come, and the timber and stone would be cemented underneath a layer of mud. Panicked black footsteps and dried trails of blood would disappear, like nothing had happened.

There were those who had escaped to the nearby hamlets and had brought their neighbours along in the morning to oversee the relief efforts; amongst them were nearby priests, who went around giving comfort to the affected, carrying medicine from the monasteries that they distributed to those who had been burnt by the fire or injured by the ransackers.

"I don't understand!" shouted a mother who had lost her child. "Why is this happening to us? We weren't in the war path!"

As the evening rolled in, shock and disbelief was slowly replaced with grief. Villagers mourned the loss of their family, of their neighbours. The only comfort possible came in the form of funeral arrangements, as the church was primped and ready to begin a heavy week of ceremony.

Amidst the heavy atmosphere, two desperate young men had ventured back to look for their sister. They had immediately walked up to the remains of the inn, circling it in search of any clues that would lead them to Alix. While one searched the remains of the main building, another scoured the back yard. The dusty earth was spotted with specks of blood all around. Two perturbing trails claimed the attention of the young man. He decided to follow the one that finished near the stream, in a large black stain. Tattered pieces of clothing were covered in dirt and blood, yet they were vaguely familiar.

"Roland!" Olivier shouted, motioning for his brother to come closer. "Doesn't this look like...?"

Roland's haggard face aged even further as he knelt next to the bloody stain. His trembling hands took one of the rags, a linen cloth died yellow like the one Alix had been wearing the night before. "They said there were wolves..."

"Fire, mercenaries and wolves..." Olivier said with some difficulty. He turned away from his brother, hiding his tears behind his hands. "She couldn't have escaped."

A choked sound emerged from Roland's chest, and both men broke down in tears. They had mourned her once before: their brief reunion just made the pain and the guilt worse this time. They had been granted a second chance, and they had surrendered it to their cowardice once again. From that village they emerged as broken men. They knew that they would never be able to shake off the weight of her death from their shoulders.

Soon night fell over their heads, and slowly they began to make their way back north. As their horses walked through the silent forest, they missed the stares of the wolves that hid in the shadows. Among them there were a woman and a girl, who watched over their figures as they veered back into civilization, taking the path that would lead them into the nearest village. Their silver stares were impassive, patient; they too had a larger journey ahead of them. With a howl the older woman turned back, and the mass of wolves followed her as she led them on their pilgrimage to the north.