"What was that?" Her eyes are wide, haunted. The steam billowing from her lips is broken into a staccato by chattering teeth. With the coach overturned and utterly ruined, any hope for shelter from the elements dissolved. "Where did it go?" Her gaze darts to me, hopeful for an answer. My head shakes slowly. "Is it coming back?"

I don't blame her for being anxious. Whatever we just saw, it beggars belief even for me. I have seen much of the world, but things like that are an oddity even in my homeland. "Darkness swallowing darkness," the words escape me before I can catch myself, but the N'jalan proverb reaches the woman before I have a chance to compose a thought. If there were warmth left in her cheeks, it has fled.

"You don't think-"

"No, the Thayne have nothing to do with this," I explain quickly, dispelling the horrific thought before it could sink deep into her. "This is something older. While the N'jalan faith has similarities, this is a manifestation. N'jal does not create."

"N'jal only takes," she whispers. She knows the words surprisingly well for a girl who grew up in the grip of the Sway. I suppose she would be well-educated on blasphemies, though.

"Check the horses," I tell her as my first instinct takes over, and I peer over the side of the cab before jumping headlong into the snow drift. There is no light, but the stink of death looms heavy. Fresh powder has covered the tracks of whatever assailed us after only minutes, but it has yet to preserve or hide the cabby's mangled corpse. This was not a good death.

"Sylvester!" Erica gasped. Her hands fly over her mouth and nose as she gags. She forces herself to look away and void the contents of her stomach respectfully at a distance from her comrade's fallen form.

Those claws were more massive than I remembered. Upon closer inspection, the man was flayed open in four distinct places. Markedly, the anomalous beast lacked an opposable thumb. Whatever it was, it was not a werewolf.

The situation has become infinitely more complex. I cannot leave Erika with the carriage. Whatever came here came for her. I glance over my shoulder toward the woman, clearly shaken. "Can you walk?" I ask. She nods, but that seems to be the only response she can manage. Shock? Post traumatic stress is likely. If I have to fight the thing again, she will be a liability.

Tracks from the horses are barely present, but they lead further down the trail, deeper into the woods. It seemed the creature had left them unmolested, but robbed us of any chance to escape cleanly. It was hunting us.

"We're still several days ride from Archen," I state, eyes on the snow. It's accumulating at an alarming rate. Without a fire or shelter, we won't last the night. What strikes me though are the words that the creature spoke.

You stole her.

"Did you ever keep the Old Gods?" I question her. "Before the Sway, I mean."

She looks up at me, flabbergasted. "What?" There is mania in her gaze. Confusion, veiled anger perhaps? Have I offended her? "No," she shakes her head, "the Church is the only faith in Salvar," she said almost reverently, "it has been since Denebriel cleansed the land generations ago."

"No," I turn to glance out into the darkness. "That's what they tell you, but the Sway is an invader. The Old Gods were here first," the stench of blood and innards is dulling. In a minute or two more, the cabby will be all but erased by Salvar's snow. I have to wonder if that same fate awaits us. "They never left," I tell her, "and they are tired of staying quiet about it."

"Are we going to die?" She is staring at me, scathing me with that gaze again; but this time, it is sorrowful, not filled with scorn. "Tobias, what's going to happen?"

"We can't stay here." I pull Erica back to her feet and start to coax her along behind me. "If the cold doesn't kill us, that thing will wait until we're weak enough that the struggle will end quickly. We need to move."