Blackfeather Woods Of a dollar to earn

It was no different from when they'd left it. The forest was labyrinthian, its twists and turns as familiar to him nonetheless, he could trace them in the darkest night and still know his way. It was unnerving to breathe the stale autumnal air clutched within the wood, though. The musty smell of rotting leaves and the thin veneer of frost mingled with the memories of those he once knew here; he thought of Relmyna first, of Fire next, and the many dark bodies he slew in his stupor.

And then Titmouse spotted a body lingering where the light seeped in. The thinnest bands of light caught upon an amber coat, and he was transported to the hollow—to the fire, to the screaming of names and the shrieking of children—and he froze on the spot.