Chapter 4: Chapter 4

The winter air nipped at Hazel even as they pulled their cloak’s hood over their head. Roland leaned against them, balancing on the crutch they had rigged from a branch. In their other hand was their whip.

“Mr. Black,I think we’re ready,”they said.

Fletcher had pulled on his own jacket,a pack thrown over one shoulder. The daggers at his hips were sheathed and ready.

“Good.” He passed over the threshold after them, shutting the door behind him. “These are for the both of you,” he said, holding up a pair of small bags. 

The faint odor of myrrh flitted over ,overpowering the aconite easily. He swallowed down the bile in his throat. The unique stink made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

Their pouches taken, Hazel helped Roland along and followed behind Fletcher, careful to stay close.

The air felt still other than the chill of the wind. Fletcher listened carefully for anything that was not the sound of their footsteps crunching in the snow. 

Nothing. 

None of them spoke as they carefully crept through the trees. Despite it being morning,the tall pines were shadowy and as inky as evening. Fletcher led them through as easy a path as he could. The trail down to the town was at least worn enough that Roland didn’t struggle to tread it. But it was not ideal.

Fletcher glanced back at them as often as he could.

Roland’s face was damp with sweat,leaning on Hazel. Anxiety was plain on both of their faces as their eyes went to the thick trees around them.

Thankfully nothing accosted them. They left the thickest part of the woods and were finally graced with the light of morning.

It was when they reached the bridge ten miles out from Maple Hollow that they found it.

   

The carcass of a werewolf, slumped over on its back, a familiar two-handed sword,the blade’s center as black as a starless night and lined with silver with a red Spark crystal in its hilt, ran deep into its chest, a trail of dried blood on the ground underneath it.

“...L...Logan.” Roland whispered.

The dark haired Hunter was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh no.” Hazel shifted a bit closer to Fletcher.

He fought the urge to lean into them.  His eyes were only for the werewolf. The fur-pattern was distinct,almost golden in color with glassy eyes. 

He knew him. 

Geoffrey Nightfog had been a traveling bard who’d stopped in Maple Hollow. One of the three who’d been infected by the attack,he’d been unable to hold the beast at bay. The last time Fletcher had seen him, Geoffrey was limping away into the forest. A decade had not faded the memory. 

Fletcher tore himself from the group, approaching the corpse. Logan was an expert to the end. The trick was to kill the werewolf quickly. If a Hunter did not,it would revert to human form as it died. There were no trophies to gather from  a humanoid corpse.

Quietly, out of habit he said a prayer to the Judge for Logan and Geoffrey Nightfog.

Then with one hand Fletcher tore the blade from its place,spraying blood over the snow. “I’m sure he will want this taken care of by you,Roland.”

Roland lifted himself away from Hazel, reaching out to take the sword. His arm almost buckled under the weight, but he held it firm. “R...right.”

The rest of the journey back was taken without incident. Fletcher breathed a sigh of relief as Maple Hollow came into view. The sight of the bloodied Roland elicited some gasps from onlookers as they made their way. 

“I’ll be fine, love. Get yourself cleaned up.” He said with a strained grin as he gestured towards the bloodstains of Hazel’s dress near the end of the sleeves and a section of the skirts. Then he was led inside by a fretful cleric. 

Hazel turned to Fletcher. “I don’t have any other clothes. If I get this cleaned-” They lifted the stained skirt. “I will need something else to wear in the meantime.”

“Let’s take you back to Angela’s.” Fletcher motioned down the path. 

The afternoon sun was high in the sky. Pale rings of violet and aquamarine were clear across the blue,only obscured by clouds. It was a beautiful day,all things considered. 

“The stains will come out with vinegar,” he added. Blood was something he had been taught to clean out many times. “I can buy you something else in the meantime. My treat.” 

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How could Lord Garth send them with only one set of clothing? Healing was bloody work.

Hazel followed quietly behind Fletcher, breathing out a sigh. “Thank you.”

Fletcher gazed down at them,smiling weakly. “It’s no bother.” There were times when he realized he had not much use for his money. The most he spent on was nice liquor and raw materials for his personal projects.

If he had taken care of them the werewolves wouldn’t have been there to sully Hazel’s pretty clothing.

“I can have something sent to your room if you’d like.”

Hazel bowed as they reached the entrance to the inn. “I am in your debt.” They  looked up at him and smiled. “Truly, it has been an honor to meet you, Mr. Black.”

“The honor has been mine,Miss Hazel.” He returned the bow. “Until later.” With that,Fletcher left before he could correct them.

Meeting someone like him was no honor.

~

Hazel stepped inside and rounded the stairway up the stairs. No Roland. No Logan. It was almost like they were there of their own volition. They could pretend that was the case if they ignored the shake in their hands and the blood on their clothing.

The maids had already straightened from their departure earlier, making the beds and dusting the furniture. The scent of lemon oil lingered and overpowered the blood. 

Hazel stepped around to the washroom and over to the tub. Warm water, no doubt provided via Flow and Spark crystal like Garth’s, began to fill its basin. Veridia had shown them ages ago how by taking the soap under the flow, the entire bath would become sudsy and smell sweet.

Undoing the clasp of their cloak, they let it fall off onto the floor near one of the beds as they walked back out to get undressed.

 As they stood in just the underdress and their smallclothes, their thoughts drifted back to Fletcher. It was only thanks to him they were even alive to enjoy this bath. 

The thought of him and baths crossed their mind and sent a redness creeping into their cheeks. Shaking their head, they stopped the water flow and dipped a finger in. 

Heavenly.

Ready completely, Hazel sank into the soothing water,muscles relaxing as the fear and anxiety of the day melted away. 

Safe. 

They were safe after a nightmarish twenty four hours. 

It would be another hour before Hazel would have a package slipped into their room after the courier knocked. The knock pulled Hazel out from the edge of dozing off. They lifted out of the tub and reached for the towel,creeping out to retrieve it.

A parcel with a note wrapped around it sat on the floor. It was wrapped in parchment with a note in an unfamiliar script.

“Mr. Black.” Hazel lifted the note up and read it over.

Miss Hazel,

I hope this is suitable for now. I’m going to look for Logan and will update you and Roland soon. 

Your’s,

Fletcher

“F...Fletcher.” Hazel whispered. 

They put the note down, pulling open the parcel. A black dress with a cinched waist and white long sleeved undershirt was inside, alongside a ribbon to tie around the neck.

Hazel held the dress up to their body. It would certainly fit. Fletcher knew their size already? Was he that observant or just lucky? They laid the dress on the bed and moved to recover their undergarments and try the dress on. 

For some reason the thought of wearing a dress a man bought did not feel dirty this time.

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