But I remained alone, save for the berries and the evergreens. I slumped against the trunk of a tree and watched the moon’s light clear the treetops, though I could not yet view the gleaming orb itself from where I rested. With a lingering shudder, I thought of the woman screaming in my mind and hoped the cawler’s image would fade with time.

I did not realize sleep had taken me until I opened my eyes. The shadows cast by the moon were long and fluid, bits of darkness dancing across my face. The snow found its way back to Lykke and it must have been sad to be gone so long, for it threw itself about in thick, fast flakes to the ground, whirling and gusting in the wind.

I sat up, dusting the piles of snow from my hair and shoulders, and my muscles groaned when I stood to shake out my skirts. I almost turned to march the rest of the way back when something caught my eye. In the distance, but still very close.

Some clouded form. I could not make it out at first in the dark, with the snow obscuring my vision. If it was a grippling, I would have to find some strength in me to overcome it. If it was Vincent, I would sigh and climb atop his back with relief. I inched closer, peering at the shadowy figure, trying to make sense of its shape.

White eyes set in gold.

They gleamed in the changing, mooning light despite the madness of the snowfall. I was sure it was him. Not only because of his eyes but because of the heat of him…as if his scent were warmth itself. I walked in his direction. The snow was already piling high, pulling my steps down to the ground buried beneath. The closer I crept, the warmer I felt until I was sure my blood might boil beneath my skin.

The pyre did not run from me, and I was not quite sure why I anticipated his fleeing, though I most certainly did. I assumed, I suppose, that he might greatly dislike humans for what we had done to him. For what we continued to do to his kind.

But he did not retreat into the flurries of the forest as I approached. He stood still as stone and waited for me to draw very near.

I remembered, then, Rosemary’s meaning many days before as she stood behind the cobbled wall of our garden, watching me. Or was it a warning she gave me? Who could tell the difference between warnings and predictions? You will come to him.