What happened in the forest shortly before...

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George5 November 1898, 01:51 hrs.

White haze accompanied each of her breaths. The night was frosty cold and the full, round moon turned its face away from the sight in the depths of the forest behind some clouds. Mud smacked under each of Sandra's steps as she fled limping forward. Her lungs were burning so badly that every breath seemed like fire to her. Needles were pricking her chest and lungs by now. Still, she ran. Onwards. On and on. She could think of nothing else. That, and those glowing eyes, the slavering mouth, and the sharp teeth.

Dry branches crackled under her feet. Whenever she touched the forest floor, the pain drove through her left foot like a hot knife blade. Hot blood stood out against her cold skin and the splattering mud that jumped up at her when she stepped into one of the puddles. Her right shoe was missing, she had lost it somewhere in the run. Nevertheless, she kept running, driven by sheer fear. Roots, twigs, stones, and undergrowth stabbed her flesh. Pointed branches tore at her nightdress and thorny plants drew bloody wounds into her skin. Scratches, but she hardly felt them because of the bottomless fear. Again and again, she heard cracking and rustling. Paws chasing her. Her fear kept her running, even when she thought she couldn't take another step. But at some point, her strength was spent, her mind as lame as her limbs.

Rough bark scratched her fingers as she leaned against one of the trunks. Panicked, her eyes darted around. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, rushing like a wild river, dragging every clear thought into the far distance. Desperately, the young lips gasped for air. Her legs were heavy and powerless - so soft that she thought she might collapse at any moment. Weighed down as if by lead, her chest rose and fell, sucking the cool air greedily into her lungs. She had long since lost her way in the pathless forest, and the lights of the village were no longer visible. Sandra did not know why she had run into the forest. How could she have been so stupid?! Hot tears burned on her reddened cheeks, leaving bright marks on her dirty skin.

Whimpering, Sandra felt for her leg. Blood was oozing and sticking to her nightdress. The girl sobbed out because the pain was so terrible and her slender body trembled under the shock of the injury. "Papa... Mama..." She wiped her hands haphazardly over her face and eyes, smearing red smears of her blood from her hands here and there on the pale skin. She brushed the long brown hair from her face, in which leaves and a few torn pieces of small twigs had become entangled, while her breath quivered.

Sandra was crying, whimpering for her mother and father. She wanted to go back home. She did not understand what was happening here or why it was happening to her of all people. She begged God for help and rescue, prayed, and begged. Low murmurs spilled from her lips and she huddled against a broad trunk between its roots.

At that moment, a dark laugh echoed out from between the trunks, as if the devil himself had heard her pleading prayer to the Creator and wanted to make fun of it. Sandra's head went up, and a strand caked with blood slipped over her shoulder. Immediately she held her breath, and her eyes widened. But nothing but dark shadows surrounded her, the mist that blurred the shapes... then a loud crack reached her ears. A thick branch broke under the heavy weight of a body. Sandra pushed herself up into the air. Her heart nearly overturned as she laid her trembling limbs against the root of the tree. Moss tickled under her fingers, and a leaf trundled down and fell silently to the ground. Her gaze searched for the source of the sound, the rustling. And found it in yellow eyes between black, ruffled fur.

The girl froze. The beast was huge. With enormous claws, a huge mouth, and glowing eyes. She had never seen anything so terrifying. Behind the beast, the mist billowed around a shadowy silhouette with a flickering light. Sandra knew that pleading for mercy would not help her. Her fear, however, simply would not allow anything else.

"Please... please... I haven't done anything..." A pitiful sound escaped her throat. Her whole body trembled. Everything inside her screamed. She should run away! Instead, she froze.

Even then, the beast jumped. The wolf easily yanked her to the ground, pressing her body into damp leaves. She stretched out her hands, trying to strike at the monster. Her scream cut through the mist, a sound of pain, agony, and helplessness. A desperate death struggle that was decided before it really began. Screams and gurgling sounds echoed into the forest between the silent witnesses of the trees as teeth dug into her body. Sandra's lips opened, wanting to scream on and on, yet managing no more than uncoordinated whimpers, howls, and gasps.

Powerful jaws cracked bone and drove down on her face and neck. Pale skin and soft flesh cracked under the sharp fangs. Blood spurted from young veins and splashed the forest floor with warm red. Rattling clothes tore as much as flesh, and the body shook and twitched. Until finally every sound from the cherry-colored lips was stifled. The testimony of escaping life drenched the woolen cloth in the color of blood. Red in red. And all that remained after that was silence.

They found the girl - or what was left of her - in the roots of an oak tree. In the pale moonlight, the dampness glinted in the glow of their lanterns. Light crept across it, revealing to them the full extent of the gruesome sight. Empty eyes in a face mauled by crude bites stared in horror into nothingness. Blood had soaked the once-white dress, drenching it in a reddish-brown color. Where neck and throat merged into shoulders, open flesh gaped so that bone and muscle could be seen. Her head had sunk onto her shoulders. Deep claw marks had torn open the young body like a badly sewn doll at its seam.
The sight had even made a few of the men throw up in the nearest bush - choking sounds and breathless gasps from the shock of the sight. The painful cry of the father when he saw his girl lying there like that was something none of them would ever be able to forget. None had the courage to stop him as he rushed to the lifeless, bloodied body of his child. The man's rough fingers trembled as he grabbed her slender shoulders and shook her as if she were simply asleep. Her head bobbed back and forth as he did so and more blood poured from the open wound on her neck, oozing thickly down her body and drenching his hands in dark red. Wool had become wet and sticky, lying weighted over her body, slipped and torn.

She should wake up, the desperate father shouted, over and over into the night, then his voice collapsed like a house of cards in the cold wind. So did he. It took three men to drag Mr. Walsh away. They gave him the time he needed, sobbing and slumping into a dismal heap of misery. Meanwhile, Baltimore took off his coat and wrapped the girl's body in the dark blue woolen fabric. Except for the rustle of her movements in the foliage, the soft cracking of twigs, and the distant calls of the few living creatures, it was utterly silent. Incensed and consumed with grief, only a short time later Mr. Walsh struck at the wolf's neck with a hatchet until he had severed it. It fell at his feet with a thud and the hunter's eyes wavered between seething hatred and bottomless pain. Kyle and Dr. Archer doubted that dragging the massive skull to the village would alleviate his loss or that of his wife. But they let the men from St. George do what they thought was right.

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Skirrid Inn
4 November 1898, 03:54 hrs.

Fog still hung over the woods and fields as the desolate troop returned to St George. The girl's father held his child, wrapped in the constable's coat. One could see the woman's hope at the sight burst into bloody shards along with her heart. Not too much later, a mother's anguished cries soaked the veil of night in salty tears. With trembling fingers, she bent over her child, stroked sticky hair from her bloodied face, and would not let her go. As they carried her daughter's body away, she pressed the red woolen cloth to her chest as if it could stop the bleeding of her heart.

By the time Kyle and Dr. Archer returned to the Skirrid Inn, most of the residents had returned to their homes. The two Seekers had promised Baltimore to tell him later in more detail what had happened with the wolf. As they climbed the steps, both Seekers were exhausted. The events of the evening were heavy on their shoulders and so the thought of the scratchy beds no longer deterred them. Still, there was much between them that wanted to be discussed.

The lantern clinked softly as Dr. Archer set it down in the narrow hallway on the first floor. Kyle's movements were stiff as he rummaged in his battered coat for the key to the room." What do we do now?" asked Dr. Archer. His voice still sounded determined, but even he could not hide fatigue. His eyes were red and he looked just as worn out from the fight as Kyle. Kyle understood the doctor's inner conflict. A girl was dead and her discovery in the graveyard was also in his stomach. On the other hand...

"I'm no good for anything anymore," Kyle said simply, as it was. He was not a soldier, not a drilled warrior who could or had to stay up for days because of cannon fire. The last few nights had been marked by so little sleep that his eyes were burning by now and the headache was already pounding at the top of his skull again.

"I need a cap of sleep... we'll discuss what we can do and how to act in the morning," he suggested, rubbing the back of his hand over his tired eyes. While Kyle slid the key into the lock, Dr. Archer wiped a fly from the lantern glass with a quick movement. Humming, she moved away and joined the second one in the doorway to the left of the dresser.

"Benjamin?"

Dr. Archer was about to step through the door when Kyle stopped him again. He stopped in the doorway and peered down the hall at the other Seeker. The latter seemed to be struggling immensely with the words. He even contorted his face sorrowfully, but then his obvious struggle melted into an expression of sincerity.

"Thank you."

Dr. Archer stood there for a second, thunderstruck. His eyes even widened a little, then he found his way back to himself, cleared his throat briefly, and nodded a little stiffly. No more words were needed. The slimmer silhouette of Kyle disappeared into his room and the door clicked as it shut behind him.

Groaning, Kyle ran his hands over his eyes there and set about peeling himself out of his bloodied clothes. He tossed the tattered and battered coat over the chair and was about to undo the buttons on his shirt when a floorboard creaked outside the room. Immediately his gaze latched onto the door of his room. For a moment there was a flickering glow of light under the narrow slit. Someone was in the hallway and a shadow drew feet on the floorboards under the door.

Following an inner feeling, Kyle bridged the steps to his room door more hurriedly than he was used to. The door groaned briefly as he pulled it open. Light from his lit candle fell as a narrow strip into the hallway, illuminating the door opposite. A buzz passed his head and the seeker swatted at it, only to see the fly pounce on his bloodstained clothes. Kyle curled his lips in disgust, but then looked into the empty hallway. To the left and the right - but nothing was to be seen. His smooth forehead, caked with blood and dirt, wrinkled, then he shook his head and closed his door again. Presumably, it had only been Elly who had locked it downstairs. This time, though, Kyle turned the key in the lock. He didn't know why he did it and didn't really think about it. And yet it gave him a touch more peace.

Water splashed as he rid himself of the sticky mixture at the washstand. His fingers slid once more in disbelief over the skin on the crook of his shoulder. Not a scratch, no scars...."How did you do that..." the mage murmured to himself, then reached for the towel beside the washbowl. Black strands stuck to his face as renewed buzzing caught his attention. Zigzagging, three of the bugs were by now buzzing around his shirt and coat. Kyle grabbed his things and carried them to the window ledge. The wood of the window made a scraping sound as he reached for the frame. He pushed it up a little before placing the bloody clothes over it and closing it again so that they were jammed inside. He hoped to be rid of the pesky critters for the time being.

When he finally let himself sink into the bed, the straw-filled mattress stung him. Kyle tossed and turned until, after what felt like an eternity, he finally found a reasonably comfortable position. Somewhere in the darkness of the room, there was a humming, then silence again. Quite differently in his mind's wanderings. He thought of the cemetery, the sight of the grave. Then of the eerie silhouette in the darkness and then of the poor girl.

"The priest fell from the tower... the innkeeper died of a stab wound... Marie was doused in pitch... Sandra was torn by a wolf..." muttered Kyle. Why could this be so eerily familiar? And where had the cursed corpse gone?!

In the next room, the doctor was also lying in bed, exhausted and tired but equally unable to fall into a much-needed sleep. His thoughts were similar to those of his companion in the next room, but he was particularly disturbed by what had happened to the wolf. The beast had come to the village. To the house of the village hunter who had attacked a family in their home. No, that was wrong... the beast, when it had the choice, had not attacked the mother or the father. It had targeted Sandra. 

"You choose her..." muttered Dr. Archer lazily into the darkness. The wolf had torn the girl, now it was dead. The villagers felt safe again in their solitude amidst the dark woods. They slept peacefully in their beds, believing the terror was over. But Kyle and Dr. Archer knew better. Their eyelids grew heavy, their bodies sluggish. Several times the loose threads slipped away from them, thoughts frayed, and simply did not want to loosen the tangle. But the two of them could not really get a good night's sleep, because they woke up again and again from confused and frightening dreams.