In Critic-Izinghale.

The next morning, Helena and Lydia awoke to find their dresses cleaned and neatly laid out for them. The fabric was still slightly damp, but it was comforting to see something familiar. As they dressed quickly, a sense of urgency hung in the air, the realization that they needed to leave growing stronger with each passing moment. Helena adjusted the collar of her gown, smoothing the wrinkles with trembling fingers, while Lydia busied herself with her hair, tying it into a simple braid.

When they stepped outside, they were met with an unexpected change—the weather, once sunny and bright during their stay, had turned gloomy. Dark clouds gathered overhead, casting a shadow over the village. The sunlight barely pierced through the thickening sky, giving the morning an almost surreal quality. A cold wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves with a hollow sound. Helena shivered, her heart sinking at the ominous shift in the atmosphere.

The Centaurs were already gathered, their solemn faces watching the two women with an understanding that seemed to go beyond words. The village, though more vibrant in the daylight, felt different under the overcast sky. The huts cast long shadows in the dim light, and the once-glimmering stream looked darker as it wound through the village. Helena took a deep breath, trying to steel herself for the journey ahead.

Before they left, the female Centaurs approached, their hooves making gentle thuds on the soft earth. With care and kindness, they combed and braided the women's hair, their touch calming. Helena's hair was woven into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder, while Lydia's was intricately braided and pinned back, making her look both elegant and warrior-like.

The Centaurs then handed them wrapped cloths, each bundle filled with doughs, dried fruits, and other edibles for their journey. The gifts were unexpected yet heartwarming. Helena felt a pang of gratitude, the simple gesture reminding her of the bond that had grown between them and the Centaur village.

Lydia approached Oliver, her expression earnest. "We are grateful for your hospitality, truly, but we need to return home. I have a husband waiting for me, and Helena—" She glanced at her friend, who nodded in agreement. "We cannot stay."

Oliver listened, his dark eyes reflecting the dull morning light. He nodded slowly, then glanced at the other Centaurs. "We will help you reach the boundary," he said, his voice steady. "This is indeed the Enchanted Grimwraith, part of Critic-Izinghale. The forest can be treacherous, but we know the way."

The words hung in the air, heavy with revelation. Helena's eyes widened in surprise. "Critic-Izinghale?" she repeated, her voice filled with disbelief. "Of all places in Critic-Ishire, we ended up here?"

Lydia shook her head, as if trying to dispel the shock. "I had no idea. We are miles from home, from Critic-Arley."

The Centaurs moved swiftly, preparing for the journey. They gathered supplies, while the elder women of the village came forward once again, pressing small pouches of dried herbs and berries into Helena and Lydia's hands. The children watched with wide eyes, their innocent faces alight with curiosity and wonder.

Helena and Lydia thanked them, expressing their gratitude to each Centaur, to each elder woman, and to each child who had helped them. There was a sense of community here, a bond that transcended the differences between human and Centaur. For a brief moment, Helena felt a pang of regret at leaving this hidden village.

The journey through the forest, despite the gloom hanging overhead, was surprisingly easy. The Centaurs led them along hidden paths that wound through the dense foliage, their steps sure even in the dim light. The trees seemed to part willingly, their branches swaying gently, as if acknowledging the presence of their Centaur guides. The sun, though filtered behind the clouds, occasionally broke through in faint, dappled rays, casting just enough light to illuminate their path.

It wasn't long before they reached a large, ancient oak tree, its roots sprawling like veins across the forest floor. Oliver approached the tree, placing a hand on its rough bark. The tree groaned softly, and then, as if by magic, a doorway appeared, a shimmering portal that led beyond the forest.

Helena and Lydia exchanged a look of awe and relief. The Centaurs had indeed brought them to the boundary. They turned to Oliver and the others, gratitude shining in their eyes. "Thank you," Lydia said, her voice filled with emotion. "You've saved us."

Oliver inclined his head. "Go safely, and may you find what you seek in Critic-Arley."

Helena hesitated, looking at the Centaur. "Would it be possible for you to help us reach Critic-Arley?" she asked hopefully. "The journey from here is still long, and we could use your guidance."

Oliver's face softened with a touch of regret. "I am sorry, Lady," he said gently. "Our duty is to this forest, to keep its secrets and protect its boundaries. We cannot venture beyond this place."

Disappointment flickered in Helena's eyes, but she understood. These creatures had their own rules, and their own ways. "Thank you, regardless," she said softly.

With a final wave to the Centaurs, Helena and Lydia stepped through the portal. The moment their feet touched the ground on the other side, a biting cold struck them. It was as if the warmth and peculiar weather of the Enchanted Grimwraith had stayed behind, leaving them to face the harsh, unforgiving winter of their homeland. Snow swirled around them, flakes stinging their skin as the icy wind whipped through their thin cloaks. The cold was a stark contrast to the strange warmth of the forest they'd just left, and for a moment, the breath froze in their throats.

They emerged into a desolate stretch of land, far from any bustling city or village. The fields before them were blanketed in snow, stretching out into a barren white landscape, interrupted only by the faint silhouette of distant mountains. No carriages rumbled along the road here, no travellers braved the storm. It was eerily silent, the only sound was the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the howl of the wind. The Centaurs had been attentive about the kingdom to remember it was snowing and give them the right shoes.

Helena shivered, tugging her gown tighter around her shoulders. "It's freezing," she muttered through chattering teeth, her breath visible in the cold air. She glanced back at the portal, but the shadowy forest had already faded from view, replaced by the relentless snowstorm.

Lydia frowned, pulling her hood up against the cold. "The weather's completely different here," she said, her voice tinged with surprise. "It was warm in Grimwraith, and now this?" She glanced around the barren landscape, her expression hardening. "We will be home soon," she added with determination. "We just have to keep moving."

Helena nodded, though the biting cold made it difficult to feel any sense of relief. The thought of home, of Critic-Arley, was distant, but it was enough to push them forward. Snow crunched beneath their feet as they made their way across the fields, their steps quickening with urgency. 

With no city gates in sight and no sign of life, it was clear that they were far from any welcoming warmth. Yet, despite the desolation and the bitter cold, Helena and Lydia pressed on, determined to find their way back to where they truly belonged.