With a last look at the man who had been a young Lord of the Woods, It ran up the forest trail, following the path of the witch…and the feast.

Pulled out of her own hazy dreams, Ashk rolled out of bed, approached the bed where Morag thrashed and moaned, and placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Morag screamed, dove off the bed, and came up in a crouch, her teeth bared. Her dark eyes looked wild and held no recognition of the person standing before her.

Ashk slowly raised her hands in a placating gesture, and said firmly, “Morag. It’s Ashk. You were dreaming. Morag.”

Slowly—too slowly—understanding seeped into Morag’s eyes.

Ashk stayed perfectly still. The Gatherer wasn’t a woman to startle when she wasn’t quite in her right mind.

A second later, Ashk’s heart jumped when someone pounded on the door, and a male voice yelled, “Hunter! Hunter! Are you all right?”

A quick glance at Morag, who was now staring at the door with deadly intent.

“We’re all right!” Ashk yelled. “We’re all right,” she said quietly, looking at Morag, hoping the woman understood.

Her sharp hearing made out a low, intense argument on the other side of the door. Not the words, but the tone.

Stay out, she thought fiercely as the door opened enough for Morphia to start to slip into the room.

Ashk shook her head. Morphia looked at Morag, then at Ashk before withdrawing and closing the door behind her.

Ashk stepped back until her knees bumped against her bed. She sat down and studied Morag, who was slumped over the other bed.

“Bad dream?” Ashk asked quietly.

Morag nodded.

“The same dream?”

Pushing her hair away from her face, Morag shifted until she sat back on her heels. “Not quite the same. Worse in some ways.”

“Is that why you wanted to share a room with me? So you wouldn’t be alone at night?”

Morag nodded. “And because you…understand the shadows.”

She didn’t like these dreams Morag kept having. She didn’t like knowing the Gatherer of Souls was walking a knife edge of self-control. She didn’t like seeing a friend suffer night after night. Morag wouldn’t talk about the dreams, and without knowing even a little of the content, even Morphia, the Sleep Sister, couldn’t understand what was haunting her sister.

“Perhaps you should turn back,” Ashk said gently. “Perhaps you should go back to Bretonwood.”

“No,” Morag said, her voice rough. “I have to go on. It’s deadly, Ashk. I have to find it before it kills everyone I—” Her teeth clicked together as she bit off the words. “I have to go on.”